


The Wrong Demigod

by TotallyMature



Series: The Olympian King [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: (aka I don't remember everything so I might have gotten a couple things wrong), Gen, also this contains brief mentions of suicide/other mental illnesses, and one of the characters has CFS (including descriptions of her symptoms & stuff), maybe also trials of apollo but i havent read those, mostly canon compliant but liberties have been taken, takes place after heroes of olympus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-07-07 11:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 63,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15906957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyMature/pseuds/TotallyMature
Summary: Damon Asher Courtes has anxiety. He is a crybaby. He is also a demigod. Those are perhaps not the best combination. How can Damon ever become the hero he is supposed to be?Who is Damon's mother? What is happening to the Mist? And why do strange things keep happening around him- even at Camp Half-Blood, where strange things happen all the time.





	1. An Extremely Memorable Detention

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of many chapters I have planned. Essentially, if I were to write another series in the Percy Jackson universe, this would be it, so expect lots of change and character growth in future chapters.
> 
> If I've made any mistakes, please let me know! Thanks, and enjoy.

It had already been a really, _really_ long day. Detention was the last thing Damon needed.

Of course, it wasn’t really a surprise. As soon as he walked in that morning and saw their substitute was Mr. Mane, he knew this would be a difficult end to a difficult week. Still, he thought, the weekend was almost upon him. It’s not like anything else could go wrong. But despite the fact that it was a Friday, Mr. Mane was no less ruthless than usual. Damon had barely got out his books before Mr. Mane found something wrong with his actions and sentenced him to half an hour after school.

Damon tried to manage his nerves as he coaxed himself into entering the room and facing Mr. Mane. He spent much of his time managing his nerves; a lot of it was a deep and sickening anxiety that had plagued him for most of his 15 years of life, but there was another element to his fear that made him contain and repress anything he felt. The few times his nerves or his temper had gotten the better of him...

“You ok?”

Damon looked up. The speaker was Pollux, just about Damon's only friend at Greene High. Damon often thought of them as opposites in more ways than one. Where Damon's eyes were oaky brown, Pollux’s were startling violet; where Damon was terrified of people, Pollux was a party animal at heart. But despite their differences, the inhospitable clique atmosphere had forced the two misfits together. This was fortunate for Damon because Pollux, despite not being particularly well built, looked strangely older than the rest of their year and was able to intimidate the less dangerous players at the school.

“Why’re you skulking around outside Mr. Mane’s?”

“One guess.”

“Detention, huh.”

“Bingo.”

“I’ll wait out here for-”

“You don’t have to do that,” rushed Damon, embarrassed. He didn’t feel nearly good enough to be waited for.

“Don’t worry about it. Just go and face the fire, I’ll be out here with some aloe for when you get out.”

“Thanks."

Bracing his nerves, Damon brushed his mop of dark hair out of his eyes and entered the classroom.

It was empty.

“Mr. Mane? I’m here for detention. Mr… Sir? Are you here?” Damon stepped into the strangely dark room, hearing the door swing shut behind him. Mr. Mane didn’t appear to be anywhere, though it was possible for him to be hiding in the shadows of the farthest corner of the classroom. “Mr. Mane?”

A shadow across the room shifted, and Mr. Mane stepped out.

“You’re late.”

“But the clock-”

“Don’t argue with me.”

Typical Mr. Mane. Damon often wondered why he’d become a teacher, seeing as he hated kids so much. Then again, that could be wondered about most teachers.

Though his unnervingly tall stature and piercing stare were intimidating in any situation, the poor lighting of the room cast most of his face into shadow, creating an unnecessarily dramatic effect.

“So do I just…”

He stepped forwards without speaking, and a strange noise echoed around the room. It sounded something like… a wood block?

He took another step, and what little light there was illuminated the ugly sight the shadows had prior hidden.

Somehow, Mr. Mane’s mostly ordinary human body stood at the front of the veined and twisted hindquarters of a horse. He was centaur-esque, but the front legs were entirely human- as if someone had sewn half a horse carcass onto Mr. Mane’s rear.

“What the hell-”

Damon fell silent when Mr. Mane drew a long, metal object from somewhere- a sword- and raised it above his head. The two horse legs bent and then sprung, launching him into a charge directly towards Damon, who froze in confounded terror.

“‘Scuse me,” said a voice, and Damon was shunted to the side. Stumbling to the floor, he looked around and saw Pollux standing in front of a door that had been thrown violently open. And… he had a sword too?

“What the shit is going on?” said Damon in a pathetic falsetto squeal, his mind not quite able to wrap itself around the utterly bizarre spectacle before him.

“I’m kinda busy, can I explain to you a little later?”

A metallic scraping filled the room with noise as the two swords met. As Mr. Mane galloped past, he turned back towards Pollux and charged again. This time, Pollux ducked his blade, slashing mercilessly at the four legs available to him. Mr. Mane let out a roar of pain and stumbled, allowing Pollux to stab him directly in the abdomen. The horse one.

In an instant, Mr. Mane appeared to melt away, leaving only a glittering blue powder and a faint, unidentifiable smell behind.

“That’s… odd,” said Pollux, slowly. This threw Damon, who, having just seen him kill their teacher-who-was-also-a- horse, expected him to have all the answers.

“What _was_ that thing?”

“Some kind of centaur I guess?” said Pollux, pulling Damon to his feet with surprising strength. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“Oh, you haven’t?” said Damon in a slightly higher voice than intended.

“You want some answers?”

“Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Ok, first things first. What’s my name?”

“What?.” Damon presumed the sword fight with their half horse teacher would be top of the list, but apparently not. “Pollux.”

“My full name.”

“I…”

“You can’t remember.”

“This is crazy. I’ve known you since middle school.”

“No, you haven’t. You’ve known me since this morning.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t remember my full name, because you never knew it in the first place.”

Something strange was happening in Damon's head. It was like trying to remember a dream and feeling it slip away faster the more you try to hold on. After a few seconds, he couldn’t remember anything about Pollux at all.

“Who the hell are you?”

“There we go. Next question-”

“Can you put that away?” asked Damon, looking at the sword. Suddenly, the possibility of further danger felt very real.

“What? Oh, sure,” said Pollux, somehow making the sword disappear as quickly it had appeared. “So you know how weird stuff keeps happening around you?”

How the hell could he know that? Damon hated remembering them, but could never quite forget all those times he’d lost to his emotions. Today’s events, however, definitely took the cake. Well, except for…

“Who are you?” repeated Damon, his nerves tightening.

“Well, my name _is_ Pollux-”

“I don’t care what your name is, can you just explain what the fuck is happening?!”

“Take it easy, this is kind of a long story. See, I’m a demigod.”

“A what?”

“A half-blood. A hero. My father is a Greek god.”

“That’s not… that’s just all myths and stuff.”

“Nope. Unfortunately. You’re a demigod too.”

“I…my mom was a Greek god?”

“You catch on fast.”

“This can’t be, this isn’t real.” Damon's head was spinning. Greek myths were just that- _myths_. This was a dream, a hallucination, something like that. “You’re making this up.”

“I wish. But you just saw pretty conclusive proof.” Pollux gestured to the glittering blue powder behind him, as well as the sword still lying on the floor. “That was a monster. I’ve had my suspicions since I saw him, but I couldn’t be sure. He was good with the Mist.”

“The Mist?”

“Ah, right. The Mist is like… a force, a sort of field. It stops people, mostly mortals, from seeing what’s really there. It can even create false memories.”

“My memories of you, that was the Mist?”

“You _are_ good- maybe you’re Cabin 6 material. The Mist is also why Mr. Mane there could look pretty much human, and convince you all he was a teacher at the school.”

“I-”

“Look,” continued Pollux. “You can stay here all night asking me questions, but you might wanna check in with your dad, too. He’ll know more about the specifics than me.”

“He… knew about this?” Was this why Damon's dad never talked about his birth mom?

“From what I gather.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Again, that’s something you should ask him. I’ll walk you home though. Can’t be too careful now you know what you are.”

“You mean there are more?”

“More monsters?” Pollux gave a short laugh. “Of course there are! There’s only all of Greek mythology that can come try to kill you at any moment.”

“Encouraging. Thanks.”

“No problem.”


	2. Things Get Serious

The walk home was uneventful, thank god. It gave Damon plenty of time to reel in the impossibility of his current reality. Despite what Pollux had said, Damon couldn’t help but pester him with more questions.

“Do you know which goddess my mom was?”

“No.”

“When can I find out?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“ _Soon_.”

“And why were you at Greene High?”

“Keeping an eye on you.”

“Why did you take his sword?” Damon pointed to Mr. Mane’s sword, which Pollux was now turning over in his hands.

“To the victor goes the spoils. Plus, I wanna find out what it’s made of. I haven’t seen a metal like this before. Normally we use celestial bronze, but this...” Pollux frowned, scrutinizing the steel blade as it shimmered like water in the afternoon sun.

“What about _your_ sword, where did you get that? And how did you make it disappear?” Damon, caught in his questions and not paying attention, suddenly realized they were climbing the steps of his apartment building and approaching his door.

“That’s more of the Mist. It’d look pretty weird to walk around carrying a sword.”

“What about Mr. Mane’s?”

“I haven’t figured out how his works. But he must’ve hidden it somehow. I doubt he’d be allowed on the school premises with a big ass-

“Oh no.”

Damon followed his gaze to see what had made him stop so abruptly, and when he saw it, his heart seemed to stop too.

The door was barely clinging to its hinges, swinging weakly with a pathetic creaking sound.

“Pollux, what’s happened?”

“I think something got here first.”

“Some _thing_?”

“Take this,” he said, handing Damon Mr. Mane’s sword. “And stay behind me.” Pollux stepped warily towards the door, reaching his hand into his back pocket as he did. When he withdrew his hand, a blade seemed to sprout from it until the sword he had used to kill Mr. Mane returned to full and deadly size, glowing with a soft bronzish light. Slowly, Pollux pushed the door open and disappeared inside. Damon followed, his knuckles white as they gripped the handle of the sword, and his eyes widening at the sight of the inside of his apartment.

The place had been thoroughly trashed. The couch was upended and torn, broken glass littered the floor, a wide and impossible chasm divided the kitchen cleanly in two, and disturbing scratch marks ran along the walls a couple of feet from the ground. It was the chasm in particular that caught his eye: a sight that reminded him of something he never, ever wanted to be reminded of.

“Who are you?!” Damon heard Pollux yell and turned to see a figure huddled and shaking in the corner, Pollux pointing his sword directly at them. “I said, who are-”

“Mom!”

Damon pushed past Pollux and ran to her, dropping his sword as he did, which clattered loudly to the floor. He felt her familiar touch as they hugged, and felt her tears on his face.

“Damon, oh my god you’re ok.”

“Mom, what happened? Where’s dad?”

“Damon, I don’t know what’s happening, there was this snake, it was _huge_ , and it had these black eyes. It came up from the ground and, and…”

She burst into tears again, holding Damon tighter than before. Damon hugged back, pressing his face into her shoulder.

Then, he withdrew and repeated his question, his voice a sharpened kind of dread.

“Mom, where’s dad?”

Weakly, she raised a shaking hand and pointed at the ravine in the kitchen. Damon stared at it, refusing to come to the obvious conclusion in front of him.

“You can’t be, he didn’t...” Damon started shaking. Memories, deep and primal, were trying to force themselves to the surface. He’d seen a chasm like that once before, but as the image tore across his mind, Damon threw himself at it, forcing it down, down, to the darkest part of his brain. He would not remember that. He refused.

“Damon, we need to get out of here. Do you have a car?” Damon turned to see Pollux, looking around the room as cautiously as he’d entered it. “It could be coming back.”

“We need to go down there. My dad-”

“We’ll find him, but right now both of you need to get somewhere safe. It doesn’t look like your mom was a target but we need to be careful.”

“Is Damon in danger?”

It was Damon's mom. With a new strength in her, she stood up and looked unblinkingly at Pollux.

“I’m sorry. He’s in more danger than he’s ever been.”

Damon's mom nodded gravely. “It’s parked outside. Where do you need to go?”

* * *

The car ride was almost entirely silent. Damon watched the sun slowly sail into the horizon as New York City came into view. Pollux had said they were headed for Long Island, and Damon's mom had driven with an almost intense fervor, _just_ slow enough so as not to be pulled over. It was only when they finally entered Long Island that anyone spoke.

“Where from here?”

“Left. We’re heading for Farm road. Look for a strawberry field.” A short silence, then Pollux spoke again. “You can see through the Mist.”

“What does that mean?”

“The monster, you said it was a snake with horns. Ram horns?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a cerastes. How much do you know about it?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Greek mythology?”

“I’ve read a few books.”

“Would you believe me if I said it was all real?”

“After what I’ve seen today, _god_ yes.”

“You took that well. She’s even faster than you, Damon.”

After the tense and silent ride, a laugh of relief rippled round the car. The long journey felt like it had put the immediate danger behind them.

“Who are you?”

“Pollux.”

“Anything else you wanna explain, Pollux?”

“You ever met Damon's birth mom?”

“Once. God, she was gorgeous. I never understood why they broke up.”

“Huh, maybe you’re headed for Cabin 10, Damon. Anyway, she’s a goddess.”

“You mean… a Greek goddess?”

“Yep.”

“...can you give me a few minutes to freak out in silence?”

“Sure.”

There were indeed a few minutes of silence, during which several hills crept into distant view. Damon felt his mom’s fear: the same fear as his own. Though she was doing her best to hide it, Damon could see, even from his seat in the back, that her hands on the steering while had turned white.

“Are you half god too?”

“Demigod, but yeah I am.”

There was another silence. When Damon's mom next spoke, her tone was steady and grave.

“Is my husband dead?”

“I don’t know. But I promise you, if he isn’t, we will find him.” Pollux was every bit as serious, and Damon, cursing his naivety, chose to keep hoping.

“Stop the car.”

Damon felt the engine fade to a gentle hum. Looking out the window, he saw a network of hills behind a newly painted sign reading ‘Delphi Strawberry Field & Vineyard’.

“Why are we at a strawberry farm?” asked Damon.

“It’s not a strawberry farm,” said Pollux. “It’s the only place safe for you this side of Kansas. Get out and follow that sign. You’ll reach a gate that says ‘Camp Half-Blood’. Once you’re through, you’ll be safe.”

“What about you?”

“Your mom’s a mortal, she can’t get in.”

“Why not?”

“Just trust me. I’m taking her to a new temporary safehouse for demigods’ mortal relatives.”

“Why can’t Damon come with me?”

“He won’t be safe there. You will. Damon, take the sword and don’t stop until you’re through the gate. Got it?”

“I- yeah.”

“Ask for Chiron, tell them I sent you.”

“Who’s Chiron?”

“You’ll find out. Just don’t freak out when you see him.”

“Why would I freak out?”

“He’s… a centaur. But he’s not like Mr. Mane,” said Pollux before Damon could say anything. “He’ll help you.”

Damon paused before speaking again.

“Pollux?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Uh, no problem.”

The silence was somehow comfortable, awkward, and tense all at once. It was only now Damon truly felt the magnitude, the strangeness, the danger of his new reality. He swallowed back the sudden burning in his throat before he spoke again.

“Bye, mom.”

“Stay safe, Damon.”

“You too.”

“Find dad.”

“I will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” The final words left Damon's mouth as a weak croak. In one movement, Damon grabbed the sword, threw open the car door, and started walking towards the hills. Determined not to be seen crying, he waited until the car drive away before he let a single tear fall.


	3. Camp Half-Blood

The sun was now half below the horizon, making the trees around Damon create long and winding shadows over the uneven ground. The air was more silent than Damon was used to, and it unnerved him. An electric current seemed to surround and permeate his body, sharpening his vision and focusing his mind on his singular goal.

For a while, the only sound to be heard was Damon's footsteps on the grassy earth, aside from the occasional rustling of leaves in the intermittent breeze. Each step felt calculated and deliberate; Damon felt as though a part of his brain that had been dormant since his birth had finally been switched on.

Finally, Damon saw something edge into sight: a tall, imposing rectangular gateway, with the words ‘CAMP HALF-BLOOD’ carved across the top. He breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his sword to his side. From what Pollux had said, he was finally safe.

It took him a little too long to realise that the wind had stopped. And the leaves were still rustling. Or, more accurately, they were hissing.

Suddenly Damon felt the ground shake beneath him and saw a small ravine divide the earth in front of him. From it slid a long, thin shadow that curved and twisted in impossible ways, as though it had not a single bone in its body. In the setting sun, it was difficult to see much detail, but the silhouette was enough to tell Damon that the snake was enormous- longer than his body- and armed with a pair of curved, wickedly sharp horns. It glared at Damon with two flashing black eyes, coiled its dark green body like a spring, and launched.

Without knowing how, Damon raised his sword just in time, catching the serpent by the horns and managing to fling it to the side. He heard it hiss dangerously but had already started sprinting to the gate and didn’t dare look.

Almost there- he heard something to his left and twisted around, knocking the serpent squarely on the head with the hilt of his sword, but at the same time feeling something impossibly sharp pierce his arm. He didn’t look down and instead ran faster than he knew how until finally, he saw himself pass through the gate and allowed himself to sink to his knees.

Letting himself look at the source of blinding pain in his right arm, he saw a long and deadly fang sticking out of it. Dropping his sword, he grabbed the root of the tooth- still trailing strings of snake gum- and wrenched it out of his arm. This might have been a mistake, as now the puncture wound started bleeding profusely.

Damon staggered to his feet, ready to force himself to walk to… wherever he was going, despite the wet, acidic agony in his arm. As he stood, he allowed himself another look at the gate.

The serpent was still there, eyeing him hungrily and sliding up to the gate. Slowly, it pushed its head towards the gate. As it crossed the threshold, a golden, electric energy began surrounding it, but the serpent didn’t stop.

It kept slithering towards him, and soon the entire body had passed the threshold into where Pollux had promised he would finally be safe.

As it launched again, Damon dived for his sword. There was a flash of black, of green, of shimmering steel, and Damon heard a heavy thud as the snake fell to the ground, its head landing a few feet away.

Then, Damon heard voices.

“What the- how the hell did that get in here?”

“We don’t need to worry about it now. Help me get him to the Big house before that venom kills him.”

“My teacher was a horse,” Damon blurted out, before he felt himself fall backwards and hit the ground, and saw darkness fall across his vision as his consciousness slipped swiftly away.

* * *

When Damon woke, was lying in a bed, facing up at the sun now streaming through the windows. He blinked a few times, then sat upright as his brain caught up with his senses. His arm still hurt, but the pain was now dull and distant, and the skin had already almost healed.

How long had he been out? A wound like that wouldn’t heal overnight.

“You’re awake!” Damon looked around and saw the source of the noise was a middle-aged man, smiling kindly at Damon as he entered the room. His hair was a dark brown that matched his powerful eyes, and he had a short, scruffy beard appeared to underline his smile. “You certainly are a heavy sleeper.”

As he walked towards him, Damon saw his torso connected smoothly into the body of an elegant white horse. Instinctively, Damon drew back in defense but relaxed somewhat when he remembered what Pollux had said.

“You’re Chiron.”

“You’re Damon.”

“Pollux said-”

“Don’t worry. Pollux told me everything.”

“He’s here? Is my mom ok?”

“She’s fine. They got to safety without any trouble. But I can’t really say the same for you, can I?”

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Two days. It would’ve been less but, unfortunately, cerastes are very rare and we didn’t have any antivenom on hand.”

“Two days? But how…” Damon stared at his almost-healed arm. “How could this heal in just two days?”

“We have our ways,” said Chiron as he reached Aster’s bed. “I should thank you, that cerastes could’ve done a lot more damage than it did.”

“What do you mean?”

“We still don’t know exactly how that cerastes was able to enter the camp. If you hadn’t dispatched it when you did a lot of people would be in danger.”

“The camp...” Damon's mind was still fuzzy as it tried to remember the details of what Pollux had told him. “Where am I?”

“You are in the infirmary of the Big House at the centre of Camp Half-Blood, a training facility for demigods such as yourself.” Chiron’s words were saturated with information. Despite his calm tone, Damon felt overloaded with rushed details.

“I’m a demigod.”

“Correct.”

“My birth mom is a goddess.”

“Yes.”

It felt unutterably weird saying these things out loud, and even weirder having them affirmed by someone else.

“Which one?”

“I don’t know, but you’ll be claimed soon enough. Tonight, in fact.”

“What do you mean ‘claimed’?” It felt like Damon's mouth was outrunning his brain, asking the next question before his brain had processed the previous answer.

“Godly parents claim their children when they reach camp. That’s how you’ll know which goddess is your mother.”

“How do they claim them?”

“It depends on the god. But don’t worry, it’s not something you’re going to be able to miss.”

Damon fell silent, his mind overrun with confusion and the feeling that he was extremely out of his depth. Chiron continued.

“It’s easier to just show you. Sara’s offered to give you the guided tour.”

“Hi,” said a voice from the doorway. Damon looked, and saw a short, round girl with gentle straw-coloured hair and an excited smile, wearing a bright orange t-shirt and a metal bracelet that glinted in the sunlight. She also had a small satchel that seemed full to bursting slung over her shoulder. “Sara Crest, nice to meet you.”

“Uh, hi,” Damon mumbled. Chiron looked between them in the awkward silence and smiled to himself before speaking.

“I’ll let you two get to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will feature romance eventually but is much more friendship focused, so any 'chemistry' is probably platonic rather than romantic (but no spoilers).


	4. An Embarrassing First Impression

As it turned out, Sara was one of the smiliest people Damon had ever met, and any awkwardness was entirely on his part. She seemed only a little older than Damon but had all of the confidence Damon didn’t as she took him around the various facilities at Camp Half-Blood. From the training grounds to the stables with _winged_ horses, all sorts of impossible sights met Damon's eyes as Sara calmly explained each as though it were something entirely ordinary.

“It’s unusual to get the full tour,” she said as they passed a large outdoor dining pavilion. “Most people just get the orientation film. I guess you grew up not knowing anything about it, huh?” Damon nodded. There was another long silence as she lead him towards the centre of the camp.

“These are the cabins,” she said, as they walked through a large array of wildly strange looking huts, arranged roughly in an arcing shape. Most seemed well furnished, though a couple were still being built and appeared to be little more than scaffolding and tarp. “That’s where we stay. Each cabin is for the children of a different god. Do you know the Olympians?” 

“Yeah,” said Damon cautiously.

“The twelve inner cabins are for each of the Olympians. Any guesses?” she said as they stopped outside a cabin decorated with generously with coral and seashell. Above the door was a large bronze number 3, as well as a trident insignia.

Damon recalled what he had learned about the Greek god of the sea.

“Poseidon?” Sara nodded.

“God of earthquakes, creator of horses, lord of the sea.” 

“But what about the outer cabins?” Damon asked. “Who are they for?”

“Minor gods, mostly. But cabin 13 is for Hades, lord of the dead.”

“Isn’t he an Olympian?”

“Not technically. The Olympians are the gods with thrones on Mount Olympus. Hades rules in the underworld.”

“I should’ve paid more attention in history.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” said Sara, though she looked somewhat concerned as she walked on. Damon figured he was supposed to know all this, being a demigod and all.

“Which cabin are you?” he said, catching up to her.

“Number 4.”

“Uh…”

“Daughter of Demeter, goddess of seasons, mistress of the harvest.”

“Oh, I remember,” lied Damon, cursing his lack of knowledge of Greek mythology. Though to be fair, he never anticipated it to be quite this relevant.

“Only one place left,” said Sara. “The armory. You need a weapon.”

“Uh, what?” said Damon, rather alarmed. 

“A weapon. You don’t wanna be caught by another cerastes without a sword of your own, do you?”

“I thought this place was safe.”

“It is- from monsters. Not from other campers.” Damon blinked at her, and she laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You’re a demigod, you’re made for this kind of thing, you just don’t know it yet.”

“What are you talking about, I’m not made for anything. You don’t understand, I’m the clumsiest person I know. I can’t use a spoon without injuring myself!”

“You were good enough to kill a cerastes and live, and that’s without any training. Battle is in your blood, literally. Chiron told me to bring you here after the tour. It’s funny, though,” she said, frowning slightly. “Most campers only get a weapon before they go on a quest.”

Damon didn’t continue trying to dissuade her. After all, even if he had a weapon, he wouldn’t need to _use_ it.

“Here we are,” said Sara as they reached a large metal shed next to cabin number 6.

“All you need to do is go inside and look around. There’s a weapon for you somewhere in there. And trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”

“But what if-”

“You’ll be fine,” said Sara encouragingly. Damon didn’t feel particularly encouraged but entered the armory all the same.

The inside of the armory was fairly dark and lined with rows upon rows of all sorts of lethal objects. Most were swords or daggers of some kind, though other weapons such as bows and spears were visible too, and there was also a mirror in the corner- perhaps to allow people to view themselves holding their weapon of choice. Damon stood awkwardly in the centre and turned slowly around, wincing at the sight of so many sharp edges. Sara said he’d know his weapon when he saw it, but what did that even mean? If anyone should be trusted with something sharp, it wasn’t him.

Damon stood for a long time in the dingy armory, inspecting each weapon and waiting for ‘the one’, but even after a good twenty minutes, nothing in the entire room caught his eye. After thirty minutes, Damon gave up. Hanging his head in shame, he made to leave the room, ready to face whatever ridicule was waiting.

As he did, his foot caught on something heavy and he tripped, causing a deafening crash as the nearest display of weapons cascaded to the ground beside him. Damon sighed deeply, sprawled on the cold floor 

“Great.”

As Damon stood up, he looked to see what the offending item was that he had tripped over, and was surprised to see something sticking out of the very floor of the armory. It was a small sword handle, wrapped in blue-black cloth, the blade sunk deep into the ground.

Curious, Damon grabbed the handle- which felt strangely cold- and pulled; the blade- made seemingly of ordinary steel- slid easily from the earth. Damon stared at it.

It was _tiny._ It was barely longer than a pocket knife and twice as spindly. It looked more like a child’s toy than a real weapon. In fact, the handle itself was almost as long as the blade, fitting perfectly into Damon's hand.

Fitting… perfectly…

This couldn’t be it, could it? Of all the weapons in this goddamn murder-shed, this was the one that called to him? Well, he thought, at least he couldn’t be accused of compensating. Plus, this was the least lethal object in the room. Maybe it _was_ perfect for him. 

Damon stepped outside and, after his eyes adjust from the dingy armory to the forceful outside sun, looked at Sara and showed her his knife. She blinked.

“Uh… are you sure?”

“Weirdly, yes.”

“Guess it’s not my place to tell you otherwise. Maybe it has, like, an ability?”

“What do you mean?”

“Some of our weapons are enchanted. But you’ll have to ask Annabeth, she’s been here ages. Knows more about those weapons than anyone.”

“Where can I find her?”

“She’s head counselor of Athena’s cabin, one of the big seven. Super intimidating, but she probably won’t bite.” 

“Big seven?” Damon asked, curiously.

“I… long story. Like, really long. Now probably isn’t the time, dinner’s starting soon. I need to take a rest until then, but you can keep exploring. This right here is Athena’s cabin.” Sara pointed to the nearest building, a flowing gray structure adorned with white curtains. “You can see if Annabeth’s there. I’ll be in Cabin 15 if you need me. Oh, and before I forget-” Sara reached into her satchel, ruffled through it for a few moments, and pulled out a bright orange t-shirt, identical to her own, and handed it to him. “This is your Camp t-shirt.” She smiled at him before walking off. “I’ll see you around.”

Damon tried to call out ‘wait’ after her, but the word caught in his throat, not wanting to admit just how scared he was to talk to whoever ‘Annabeth’ was. He slid his knife into his back pocket and looked down at himself, seeing that his clothes- which he’d slept in for two days straight- were grossly wrinkled and torn. He decided to put the orange shirt on now, instead of walking up to Annabeth looking like a tangle of weeds.

To change, Damon returned to the privacy of the Armory, took off his shirt, and was suddenly caught by his reflection in the mirror in the corner of his room.

Everything about his body made him angry, from the stretch marks along his arms to the rolls of fat that appeared whenever he sat down. He was angry at himself, that he looked like this, that he was such a failure; it was like a switch being flipped in his head. Normally, he could handle this, but this time the surge of uncontrollable emotion was too strong, and his body moved without his permission, punching the mirror with so much rage and pain it scared him. The glass shattered, leaving him staring at an empty frame and bruised knuckles.

This sometimes happened to Damon. Any emotion could suddenly become overpowering and terrifying and painful. Even happiness would sometimes cause his muscles to tense so hard it felt like he had been stabbed a hundred times over. And the longer he held in the next one, the worse it would be. These fits, outbursts, episodes, whatever- they scared Damon more than anything else.

Gathering, repressing himself, Damon put his shirt on and made his way back to Cabin 6, still feeling an electrical aftercurrent of the outburst running through his bloodstream and to every inch of his body.

* * *

When Damon arrived back at the door of Cabin 6, his deadly anxiety returned. As was his skill, Damon pushed it down with gritted teeth, not permitting even a hint of it to show in his expression. He knocked on the front door and stepped back. Looking up, he noticed the owl insignia above the door, and some long unused part of his brain remembered that the owl was the symbol of Athena.

The door opened and a boy, noticeably older than Damon, looked out. He had pitch black hair that was swept messily to one side and bright green eyes that smiled mischievously down at him above a sideways grin. At the sight of him, Damon felt his heart rate increase and was sure he felt blood rush to his face.

Then, something about his face changed. His eyes flashed dangerously, almost silver, and the smile dropped into a deadly frown. He looked… terrifying. Damon stumbled backwards and tripped clumsily, falling backwards onto the earth. All the nerves Damon was holding back were released at once, causing instant tears to start flowing down his face. He tried to speak but all that could come out was a terrified, blind whisper, repeating the same words over and over again.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I’m so sorry- I didn’t- I’m not- oh god- oh god- oh god- I’m sorry- I’m sorry-”

“Christ, Seaweed-brain, what did you do to him?”

It was another voice from the cabin, but Damon's tears were too thick to see properly.

“I… wolf stare." 

“Wolf stare?! Why the hell would you do that?! He’s a kid!” 

“I don’t know, I-”

“Just help me get him inside.”

Damon felt two strong grips on each of his arms pull him to his feet and march him inside the cabin, still sobbing and mouthing desperate apologies like a broken record. Out of all his terrifying experiences in the last few days, why was _this_ the one that gave him a panic attack?

The two people on either side sat him down on a bed in the corner of the cabin, and one of them handed him a glass of water, which he put to his lips and gulped down quickly. After a minute, he was able to stop crying and clumsily wiped away his last tears with his shirt. 

“He ok?”

“It’s a panic attack. Of _course_ he’s not ok, you just fucking wolf stared him!” There was a pause before the voice spoke again, this time more softly. “You’re alright. Take your time.”

Damon looked up, now able to see properly. One of the speakers was the boy he’d seen at the cabin door, though his face was no longer flashing and dangerous. The other was a girl, the same age as the boy beside her and almost as tall, but with long, curly blond hair and gray eyes that held an incredibly piercing gaze.

“I’m ok, I’m ok,” said Damon, forcing himself to stop shaking. He had a lot of practice at repressing panic attacks. “Sorry, I, I just have anxiety and-”

“That’s ok. You don’t have to apologise.”

“I do,” said the boy, sitting beside him on the bed. “I have no idea why I did that. I’m sorry.”

Damon smiled weakly at the boy, who returned it.

“Did Chiron send you to get us?”

“No,” said Damon nervously. “I just, I was looking for someone called Annabeth.”

The pair exchanged glances.

“You new here?” asked the girl gently. Damon nodded. “Well, you’ve succeeded. I’m Annabeth Chase, and this is my dumbass boyfriend Percy.”

Damon smiled weakly at them both before returning his gaze to his knees.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“We don’t do autographs,” said Percy sarcastically. Annabeth hit him. “What? I’m joking!”

“Autographs?" 

“Ignore him,” said Annabeth, rolling her eyes. “Why were you looking for me?” she repeated. 

“I, I just got my weapon from the armory and, and Sara wasn’t sure what it was. She said you might be able to tell me something about it.”

“Sara?” said Percy to Annabeth.

“From Cabin 4 I think. The one who spends half her time in Hypnos’ Cabin,” Annabeth answered before turning back to Damon. “Can I see it?”

Damon reached into his pocket and pulled out the minuscule knife. The pair of them stared at it.

“What does it look like full size?”

“This… this is full size.”

“Are you sure?” said Annabeth, taking the knife from him and examining it closely. “This is how you found it in the armory?” Damon nodded again. “Weird.”

“What is it?”

“It's just, I've never seen it before.”

“Guess your memory isn't as good as you thought.”

“You're the worst,” said Annabeth, rolling her eyes at Percy but grinning all the same. Then she looked curiously at Damon, who could almost hear the mile-a-minute calculations whirring behind her eyes. “Why do you have a weapon? Why not just a practise sword?" 

Damon felt suddenly vulnerable- as though this was something he was supposed to know but had forgotten, and now the teacher had surprised them with a pop quiz.

“I don’t know. Chiron just said I needed one.”

Annabeth handed the minuscule blade back to him, still staring at it as if trying to puzzle it out. 

“We didn't ask, what's your name?” asked Percy

“Damon,” he mumbled. For some reason, Percy made him a lot more nervous than Annabeth.

Then, a distant sonorous horn sounded, and Percy and Annabeth looked at the door.

"Dinner. Do you know how to get to the dining pavilion?” Damon nodded. “Great. You should probably get going- you don't wanna be late. We'll catch up.” 

Damon smiled nervously at both of them again, before exiting the cabin and setting off towards the big house. As the door swung shut behind him, Damon heard a voice from the cabin behind him. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

 _Well_ , Damon thought to himself, _that could've gone better_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the pre-written chapters, so I'm in the middle of writing/rewriting chapter 5 rn. If anyone has any comments (even if it's just stuff I got wrong) please leave them! I'd love to know how I can do better, or if you like the story or have any questions :D


	5. Worrying About It

Finding the pavilion wasn’t difficult. Streams of other campers, some of whom looked even younger than Damon, were all heading up the hill from the cabins. Various shouts of ‘fall in’ echoed across the ground as each cabin would line up in order of what appeared to be age. All he had to do was follow the campers and their shouting to reach 12 large tables- one for each cabin, with a bonfire blazing at the centre. Damon scanned the heads already sitting there, and noticed Chiron at table 12, next to a stout man in a Hawaiian shirt.

“Hey, Damon.” Damon turned around and allowed himself a smile when he saw Pollux grinning at him. “I guess you survived, huh.”

“Only just.”

“You wanna sit with me? Once you’re claimed you’ll have to sit with your cabin but until then it’s wherever’s free.” Damon noticed five or six campers, all fairly young, wandering between the tables until they found a free seat.

“Thanks,” said Damon, some of his intense nerves abating. He followed Pollux to table 12 and sat next to him, looking around at the other people sitting with them. Cabin 12 was apparently fairly empty, as Damon and Pollux were the only campers there. The rest of the seats housed satyrs, as well as Chiron and the stout, watery-eyed man sitting at the head of the table.

As he scanned his eyes across the campers at the other tables, almost all of which wore orange t-shirts identical to his. One face, in particular, caught his eye. It was a boy who looked about Damon's age, with messy, bed-head-esque hair and extremely dark eyes. For some reason, Damon couldn’t shake the feeling that he recognised the boy from somewhere.

“Sorry, sorry,” came another voice. Damon turned to see Percy and Annabeth jogging towards the table, before approaching Chiron. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Is everything alright?” asked Chiron quietly.

“We’ll tell you later,” said Percy as he and Annabeth turned to approach their own tables.

“At last,” said the stout man next to Chiron with a bored, sighing voice. “The camp celebrities have arrived. You weren’t thinking to miss the only good thing to happen at this dreadful place?” Percy and Annabeth didn’t answer and instead split up to each sit at their respective cabin table.

The man then raised his hand. The air shimmered, and suddenly a glass of deep red wine appeared in his grasp. Damon felt his jaw drop.

“I’m never drinking coke again,” the figure shouted.

“Dad went for an off-limits nymph a while back,” Pollux said quietly to Damon. “Zeus punished him by putting him in charge of this place for a while and making him go sober. He’s still camp director for another 50 years, but Zeus lifted the alcohol restriction after…” Pollux trailed off, but Damon had something else on his mind.

“Dad?” Damon whispered to Pollux. “You mean he’s… a god?”

“Indeed I am,” said the figure, staring at Damon who instantly felt his heart stop. “Dionysus, in the flesh! But that’s Mr. D to you, Damien.” Damon only breathed again when Dionysus turned away to address the pavilion at large, throwing back the wine with a deep fervor and smacking his lips. “There you have it, the only good thing to happen in this gods-forsaken place. I suppose I have to mention we have three new campers: Charlie Skye,” he said, and the campers’ heads turned to a small girl at table 11 who was blushing furiously. “...Damien Potts,” Mr. D continued, and Damon felt himself blush as all the heads turned to him. “...and Mentor Crier,” he finished, and campers’ heads turned finally to a boy with dirty blond, almost brown hair, and eyes so wide he looked like a ghoul. He didn’t so much as blink, let alone blush when the spotlight turned to him. Mr. D held his glass up, which instantly refilled, this time with a sparkling rosé. “Get on with it,” he said, sounding bored with the lot of them.

“Don’t get used to this,” said Pollux. “This might be the best mood you’ll ever see him in.”

“Why? What’s he normally like?” If this was his good mood, Damon couldn’t imagine what Mr. D was like on a bad day.

“You’ll see soon enough,” said Pollux, smiling knowingly. Damon would have asked further but was distracted by the sound of Chiron stamping his hoof on the marble floor of the pavilion, commanding silence from the campers.

“To the gods!” he shouted.

Everyone raised their glasses, and Damon hastened to follow. “To the gods!”

At once, a crowd of people that Damon had somehow failed to notice approached the table like restaurant staff, filling it with all sorts of meats, cheeses, grapes, and the like. “Coke,” said a voice next to him, and Damon saw Pollux’s glass fill with sparkling brown liquid. Feeling like an idiot but too curious to stop himself, Damon whispered to his own glass.

“Uh, coke.” At once, his glass filled itself and Damon took a sip. At the best of times, Damon wasn’t a fan of coke, or really any soda, but this coke tasted particularly strange.

“You don’t have to have coke,” said Pollux, laughing slightly. “Ask for anything.” Damon turned back to his glass and spoke again.

“Water,” he said nervously. Pollux looked at him with raised eyebrows, probably expecting him to be a little more adventurous, but Damon was perfectly happy with what he had and began loading his plate with food.

“Ready,” said Pollux, standing up with his plate.

“For what?” Damon looked around, confused, as all the campers, one by one, brought their plates to the fire and dropped a portion into the flames.

“It’s a sacrifice- for the gods. They like the smell.” Damon didn’t decide to pursue why gods would want the smell of charred meat, so he awkwardly grabbed his plate followed Pollux to the fire.

“Dionysus,” said Pollux before dropping a portion of his food into the fire. Damon followed, though, unsure of his godly parent, said nothing as he scooped the food into the flames.

All at once, the smell of a hundred different things filled the air, savory and sweet, mashed potatoes and apple pie, all things that somehow- _impossibly_ \- smelled completely glorious together.

Shaking himself back to reality, Damon followed Pollux back to their seats and had just sat down when a cheer erupted from table 9, a table of burly campers who all had extremely dirty hands. Damon followed their gaze and saw Charlie Skye staring terrified up at the image of a large fiery hammer that had appeared above her head.

"Hail, Charlotte Skye, Daughter of Hephaestus," said Chiron across the Pavilion. For a moment, everyone bowed their heads in respect. Damon hastened to copy them.

“Is that what claiming looks like?” 

“It is for Hephaestus’ kids. Look, that’s Aphrodite’s.” Damon looked where Pollux was pointing and saw a dark-haired girl glow with a delicate pink aura which, when it disappeared, left her looking absolutely stunning, her hair perfectly curled and her eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Hail, Petra Jones, Daughter of Aphrodite." Again, the campers bowed their heads.

“Why her?” asked Damon as the two claimed kids made their way to their respective tables. “Mr. D didn’t say she was a new camper.”

“She’s been here a while,” said Pollux. “Campers like her are claimed when they turned 13. It used to be pretty different- sometimes gods wouldn’t claim their kids at all. But a while back, they swore on the river Styx that all children would be claimed.”

“The river Styx?” Damon racked his brains. “Isn’t that… a river in the Underworld?”

“Yeah, but it’s also the strongest oath you can make. Even gods stick to it. Most of the time.”

This continued for a while, a couple more campers being claimed and cheers emanating from their newfound godly siblings. Damon stared, transfixed by all the magical happenings around him, only shaken out of his trance when Pollux cheered particularly loud next to him. Damon followed his gaze to see Mentor Crier staring blankly up at the image of a purple vine curled above his head.

"Hail, Mentor Crier, Son of Dionysus."

“Get over here,” yelled Pollux across the Pavilion, and Mentor drifted over to them. Damon saw Mr. D raise his glass and smile (only mostly sarcastically) at Mentor, who gave a tiny smile back. Then Pollux grabbed him and roughed up his hair. “Welcome to Cabin 12, Mentor. Cool name.”

“Most people call my Tors,” he said with a vacant voice. “You’re happy.”

“Uh… yeah,” said Pollux, a little off-balance. “Why?”

“It’s a kind of happy. The happy that means you’ve lost so much so quickly. You’re mourning.” Pollux looked deeply and cautiously at Tors, who was making quite the impression. “Sorry,” he said dreamily. “My name is Tors, but people call me ‘freak’, too.” He spoke as if this explained his distinctly odd cadence and perpetual, unblinking staring. When people talked about ‘weird’ people, Tors was the kind of person they meant.

Tors did, however, manage conversation with Pollux. At times he seemed almost normal, laughing alongside those around him, but at other times he stared deeply and blankly across the table, as if seeing something no one else could. For some reason, Damon couldn’t help but admire his kookiness. In a way, it was a kind of confidence.

At the end of dinner, Mr. D spoke once more.

“I suppose I have to say: capture the flag is this Friday, Cabin 6 holds the laurels.” A cheer erupted from table 6. Damon saw Annabeth exchange extremely significant eye contact with Percy, who sat several tables over. “Now get on with it. Off to your sing-a-long or whatever it is you do.”

Damon followed the other campers back down to the cabins, this time congregating around the campfire in the centre. Despite the large firepit, the golden flames looked oddly weak. As though this particular fire had lived past its glory days. There, a group of kids which Pollux told him were from Apollo’s cabin lead a sing-a-long, interrupted only when a couple more claimings took place.

“Busy night,” said Pollux after another child of Hephaestus was claimed. “Claimings don’t usually happen all at once.”

At this, a previously unflared nerve in Damon’s stomach came to life. He had still not been claimed, and heads were beginning to turn to him- subtle, not enough for Damon to fail to notice.

“Pollux, what if I’m not claimed?” Damon couldn’t help but voice his fear.

“Don’t worry,” said Pollux smiling. “You will be. By the time the conch blows, you’ll know.”

The problem was, the sing-a-long came and went, sparks flew up from the campfire, the horn sounded across the camp, and Damon had still not been claimed.

* * *

As campers began filing towards their cabins, whispers began buzzing and Damon knew, from the repeated glances towards him, that he was the subject. His worst fears had been realised.

“Cabin 11,” said Chiron, making Damon jump slightly. “I’m sure you’ll be claimed by the week’s end. Until then, Cabin 11 will provide for you. Connor?”

“You got it,” said a boy. He was tall, thin, and had an untidy mop of brown hair that hung in front of his eyes. His smile was even more mischievous than Percy’s, and Damon got a strange feeling just looking at him. Both he and Chiron spoke airily, but there was an undeniable concern in both their voices, despite their attempts to hide it.

“I thought I would be claimed tonight,” said Damon meekly, hearing another set of whispers run around the campers.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Connor, which only made Damon worry about it more. In Damon’s experience, people only said not to worry about the things that should most definitely be worried about.

As Damon made to follow Connor to Cabin 11, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Chiron looking down at him.

“Can I speak with you for a moment? Privately?”

Damon followed him away from the other campers and back towards the now empty pavilion, where Chiron turned to face him. His face looked more lined than before, and his eyes stared deeply into Damon's.

“Damon, do you have any... abilities?”

“What do you mean?”

“Things you can do, or that happen to you. That you can’t explain. Has anything like that ever happened?”

Damon felt cold sweat mist up his palms, felt the blood drain from his face.

“No, sir. Nothing like that has ever happened to me.”

“I see,” Chiron stood in pensive silence for what felt like a long time, looking over the expansive strawberry fields. Damon followed his gaze, his resolve falling to unearth a dark and resolute fear that he tried desperately to hide.

“My dad’s dead, isn’t he.”

“We cannot presume-”

“Please, tell me the truth.”

“You first. You _do_ have abilities.”

Damon felt tears sting his eyes but held them back with gritted teeth.

“I don’t like to remember it.”

“Why not?”

“I… I…” Damon couldn’t hold his tears back, and they cascaded down his face. His hands were shaking again, and his brain felt both searing hot and ice cold. “I, I can’t, I’m sorry, I-”

“You don’t have to tell me right away,” said Chiron, trying to sound gentle but betraying impatience in his voice. Damon nodded, trying to wipe away his tears. He could tell Chiron didn’t want to deal with demigods who cried all the time. Perhaps that was why Sara gave him the tour instead.

“And my dad?”

“My best guess is he’s in the Underworld.”

“So he’s dead.” The words came out of Damon's mouth like a final blow, a hammer on an anvil, but Chiron somehow caught it before the impact.

“Perhaps not.”

“What?”

“When people die, they leave behind bodies. Your father seems to have been taken to the Underworld directly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It is perhaps not in your interest to dwell on it. Hope is a dangerous thing, child.”

Damon stood, blinking for a few seconds. Once again, he allowed a cursed optimism into his lungs and it felt like the first breath of air after half drowning.

“Thank you, Chiron.”

“It is late. You should get to bed.”


	6. In Which a Bubble is Burst

Damon woke the next day feeling slightly sick. Perhaps this was due to him eating so little over the past few days, but his whirring mind certainly didn’t help.

He felt confused, more confused than he ever had in his life, and found himself skipping lunch to sit alone, looking over the canoe lake, and thinking. The morning hadn’t been too eventful. In fact, it had consisted almost entirely of learning Greek mythology, taught by a half-goat boy named Grover, learning the ancient Greek language, taught by Annabeth, and picking strawberries from the strawberry fields. The only slightly interesting thing was canoeing, which Damon was easily one of the worst at. Damon couldn’t help thinking the morning had felt a lot like school. After lunch, however, he had ‘Sword Skills’, which seemed terrifying, but at least it was very, _very_ unlikely to resemble school.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about his father. Damon had been certain he was dead, but now he wasn’t so sure, he felt forbidden from grieving, dancing on a tightrope between hope and despair- too scared to fall into either, but too exhausted to keep balancing for long.

He felt singled out, too, and not in a good way. Even in this camp full of impossible people, he was wrong. A demigod with anxiety- not the kind of person about whom any legends would be written. He was so pathetic, his godly parent would rather break their oath on the river Styx than embarrass themselves by claiming him. In ancient Greek, everyone else seemed to intuitively understand the language, but it was as foreign to Damon as medieval French. According to Annabeth, demigods’ brains were hardwired for ancient Greek. They were supposed to have innate battle reflexes, too. Apparently, Damon was an exception.

The sound of footsteps drew Damon from the inside of his head back to reality. He looked up to see Percy sitting next to him, staring out across the lake.

“Doesn’t feel great, does it?” Damon looked at him, not understanding. “Not feeling wanted. I was unclaimed for a while when I first got here. I worried about not being good enough for my dad. About spending the rest of my life packed in the Hermes Cabin but never really belonging there. It’s one of the reasons I made the gods promise to claim all half-bloods when they got here, or when they turned 13.”

“ _You_? You made the gods promise you something?” said Damon in awe. “How?” Percy let out a small and gentle laugh.

“Long story.”

“So who claimed you in the end? Who did your dad turn out to be?” Damon saw that mischievous grin return to Percy’s face. Then, he heard something splash in the water of the lake and looked round.

The water was rising, twisting and shimmering in the air like liquid glass. Then, it stopped, sculptured into the shape of a long, three-pronged weapon: a trident.

Damon's jaw dropped.

“Does that answer your question?” Damon nodded, transfixed as the trident collapsed back into the water, sending a network of ripples across the lake. “Gods are overrated, Damon. Half of them are assholes with more power than they know what to do with. I got lucky; Poseidon’s actually a pretty chill dad.”

“You’ve met him?!”

“A couple times. But not everyone is that lucky. If whoever it is doesn’t want to claim you, that’s on them. It’s their loss, not yours. You wouldn’t want that kind of selfish person in your life anyways.”

“I… thanks.”

Percy stood up, then offered Damon his hand. He took it, blushing profusely at his embarrassing sulking, but still so grateful for what Percy had said. Then, Percy’s smile dropped. He was looking over Damon's shoulder, and as Damon turned to look, he felt Percy shove him sideways to the ground. Before he knew it, Damon was spitting dirt and trying to understand what had happened.

He looked up and saw Percy take a pen from his back pocket, which somehow grew and morphed into a long, single-handed sword, glowing with a strange bronze light. Then, Damon saw why Percy had shoved him.

It was another cerastes, twice the size of the one before it, with longer, sharper horns but the same rotten black eyes. As it launched towards him, Percy blocked it expertly, his sword clashing against the curved horns. He threw it back, readying himself for another strike. But as the serpent coiled its body, ready to spring, Damon saw its dark eyes flash in his direction. Ignoring Percy, the cerastes sprung towards Damon, hissing icily as it opened its mouth, baring its deadly fangs to bite mercilessly down on him. Reflexively, Damon drew the tiny knife from his back pocket and, unable to block due to its tiny size, shoved it vertically into the snake’s mouth, propping it open and causing drops of blood to appear as the point of the blade began to pierce the snake’s upper gum.

The cerastes wasn’t beaten, however, and quickly lowered its head to strike with its curved horns instead, before suddenly convulsing and freezing, then collapsing to the ground, it’s black eyes rolling back in its head and it’s huge body becoming limp and lifeless. Damon looked up to see Percy standing above him, his sword stuck cleanly in the snake’s body. For some reason, he was smiling and leaning on his sword with a jarringly casual air.

“Not bad.”

Damon stood up, carefully wrenching his knife from the cerastes’ mouth, wiping the blood off onto his shirt, and sliding it back into his pocket. Percy did the same, and Damon watched as his sword shrunk back to a pen which, coincidentally, happened to be about the length of Damon's full-sized weapon, excluding the handle.

“I thought this camp was supposed to be safe.”

“It is. Someone probably let it in as a joke.”

“A  _joke_?”

But Percy was interrupted from replying when the ground started to shake. A chasm, like the one in Damon's apartment, appeared beneath the snake’s corpse, swallowing the snake whole before widening even further. Frozen in surprise, Damon felt his foot slip and then begin falling into the ravine, the darkness inside it rushing towards him.

With surprising strength, Percy grabbed Damon's arm and tossed him back onto solid ground. When he looked up, the ravine had disappeared, and the ground looked perfectly normal once again. The only evidence of what had just happened was the cerastes’ blood staining the otherwise green earth.

Seeing the chasm again stirred deep-rooted memories, and Damon clenched his jaw, burning the images in his head before locking the cinders as far away from his conscious mind as he could. But he couldn’t hold them completely.

“You know,” said Percy a little more seriously. “There is another reason gods might not want to claim their children.”

“What is it?”

“To protect them.” There were a long few seconds of silence between them before Percy spoke again. “Can you come with me a second? I know someone who might have some answers.”

* * *

Damon remained silent as he followed Percy, not even asking where they were going. He was busy trying to ignore the images flashing across his head. No matter how hard he tried, every time he saw one of those cracks divide the ground, it reminded him forcibly of that time he- _No!_ Damon glared at the ground, clenching his fists with the effort. It felt like having a Pandora’s jar in his brain: he knew opening the jar to look inside would unleash hell, but as the seconds passed the temptation to peek grew stronger and stronger.

When he heard Percy stop, Damon looked up to see the climbing wall towering above them. A couple of campers were scaling it, while a few others stood at the base, looking varying degrees of singed.

“Here for a race?” said one of the campers stood at the base. Damon saw that he was the boy he’d noticed at the campfire, with the pale skin and shaggy black hair. Seeing him again, Damon still couldn’t shake the feeling that he recognised him from somewhere.

“Maybe later,” said Percy. “Can I talk to you?”

“What’s up?” said the boy, looking a little concerned. When he wasn’t smiling, he was rather gaunt and almost ghostly in appearance.

“This is Nico,” said Percy to Damon. “Nico, this is Damon. New camper.”

“Hi…” mumbled Damon. Nico nodded at him in response. Damon saw his eyes pause a little longer on his face, and a very slight frown creased his forehead.

“Nico, how much do you know about cerastes?”

“I’ve seen a couple at dad’s place. They’re usually wild but sometimes if he’s busy he’ll send them after people he wants dead. Not often, though. They’re not as threatening as most other underworld creatures. Why?”

Damon's nerves tightened. Someone wanted him dead?

“I think your dad may have something of a grudge on him,” said Percy, nodding at Damon.

“I doubt it. If Hades really wants you dead, you might as well be already.”

“ _Hades?!”_ The word escaped Damon's mouth and his eyes widened in shock. “The god of the dead?”

“Mmhmm,” said Nico, apparently used to this kind of reaction.

“Damon was just attacked by a cerastes. It ignored me- it was pretty set on going after Damon.”

“There was another one.”

“What?”

“When I first got here, a cerastes followed me into camp.” Percy frowned at Damon before turning back to Nico.

“Someone has to have let them into camp- could it be him?”

“Not without someone on the inside letting them in. Besides, why wouldn’t he just have the Earth swallow Damon up? He’s not busy at the moment, he’d have plenty of time.”

“He tried.”

“What?”

“Just now. After I killed the cerastes, the earth cracked, swallowed the corpse, and then went for Damon.” This made Nico look even more concerned.

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“He got my dad,” said Damon before he could stop himself. The pair looked at him. “Before I came here, I went to my apartment and there was a huge crack in the floor. My mom said, she said he… fell…” Damon choked slightly on the last words and tried his best to hide the embarrassing tears in his eyes. “I don’t know if he’s dead or…”

He was crying again. Pathetic.

“Your dad’s mortal?” asked Nico. Damon nodded. When he next spoke, his voice had an edge but was slightly softened. “I can find out if he’s dead if you want.”

“Really?” Damon's stomach lurched. He wanted to know, of course he did. But as much as he wanted the truth, the thought of how bad it could be chilled his blood.

“Yeah. I can summon the dead. If he’s alive down there, I won’t be able to summon him.”

“I… thank you,” Damon mumbled. Nico nodded.

“I’ll get stuff ready. Meet me at 8:30 outside the southern woods. And bring some food from the Dining Pavilion.”

“I will.”

Nico walked off, leaving Damon alone with Percy.

“I didn’t know about your dad. I’m sorry, I know what that’s like.”

“You do?”

“Hades took my mom when I first got here.”

“Oh,” said Damon in surprise. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I got her back,” Percy smiled. “As long as your dad’s alive down there, there’s still hope. For now, you might want to keep your mind off it. What’s next on your schedule?”

“Sword skills.”

“Perfect. There’s no distraction quite like your first sword training session.”

* * *

As it turned out, this was quite the understatement. Sword training did more than distract him; it burst this very nice bubble around him where he could believe that Camp Half-Blood was a pleasant place full of pleasant people.

First off, Damon was _awful_ with a sword. Second, it didn’t take very long for everyone there to notice it. Their teacher, a son of Athena named Tom, singled him out the moment they lined up at the arena.

Tom was sharp in every way. His body was tall, refined and structured, and his blue eyes surveyed Damon as if finding his every weakness and figuring out the most painful way to exploit them. After watching Damon stab clumsily with his practise sword at various straw targets, Damon saw a glint in his eye and knew it didn’t mean anything good.

“Practising in pairs now. And, oh! I’ll need a partner for the example.” There was a deliberately false sense of airiness to his voice. “How about you, Damon?”

There it was.

Damon stood, trying not to completely embarrass himself by crying or trembling in front of the onlookers while Tom approached him with a sword.

“I’ll demonstrate the next few maneuvers you’re going to learn. Damon, just try not to let me kill you.”

Damon did very much try, he just didn’t succeed. No matter where he jabbed his sword, Tom’s would dart elegantly around it and add another scratch to Damon's body. Tom remained intimidatingly silent, too, and as the fight went on Damon got the sense that this was no longer a demonstration. Tom could cut him much deeper if he wanted.

“Seriously? I know you’re pathetic but this is something else.” Damon let him taunt him, let him cut him. He’d never been one of the kids in school who fought back. Every fight was a predetermined loss, and this was no different. “Get _up_ , you sack of- oh my- are you _crying?_ ”

Damon tried to hide it, but the damage was done. His one hope of joining Camp Half-Blood was leaving behind his life as the pathetic crybaby. Apparently not. He hated himself for it, for turning into a baby at every opportunity, but for some reason, he just couldn’t stop the waterworks when they wanted to come.

Damon stumbled to his feet but within seconds was knocked to the ground again. And again. And-

“Stop.” Damon looked up, his skull still vibrating from its last contact with the ground, to see someone he recognised, the one claimed by Dionysus who stared blankly at everything, standing in front of the other onlookers. Damon recalled his name: Tors “He can’t fight you.”

“Obviously not,” Tom spat in my direction. “You want to take his place?”

“Yes.” Damon heard laughter break out from behind Tors.

“Good luck, freak. You’ll need it.”

But Tors didn’t reply. Instead, he walked over to where Damon was lying on the ground and raised his sword. Damon scrambled to get out of the way.

Tom smiled viciously at Tors as the pair of them raised their swords and began. Tors was clearly the beginner, but at least he had some kind of intuition for fighting- those innate battle reflexes Annabeth had mentioned. Still, in under a minute, Tors was backing away off balance, while Tom raised his sword for a powerful strike.

Then Tom froze. His eyes didn’t change expression, but they looked somehow as though something old and rotting had been planted behind them. Tors took the opportunity and launched at Tom, swinging his sword to twist Tom’s out of his hand and clattering to the ground. Tors then walked calmly back to the group as Tom’s face became normal again, though he now had gritted teeth.

Throughout the rest of the session, Tom’s cold eyes betrayed his embarrassment and fury. But he didn’t risk his dignity to target Damon again. At least, not immediately.

The problem was: unlike Tors, Damon was an easy pushover and Tom knew it. Damon hadn’t learned to fight back, just to survive it.

And survive it he did. Bleeding and aching and bruised, sure, but he survived. He was still the crybaby, though, and retreated to a private a spot as he could find to let more tears fall.

“You’ll need to toughen up if you wanna survive here,” said a voice. Damon looked round and felt his stomach drop when he saw Tom standing there with a grin on his face. “I’m not the only one here who’s seen you. The unclaimed kid. At this rate, crying every half hour, you won’t last a week. This isn’t a nice place, kid. We aren’t kind. We’re heroes. Our job isn’t to help you, it’s to survive. Whatever hard childhood you think you’ve had, I’ve heard it a hundred times before, a hundred times worse. Buck up, wimp.”

Damon didn’t buck. He never did. It wasn’t his style. Damon just went off and cried and got beat and cried.

“I could toughen you up if I wanted. But I don’t want to. In fact, you might be the first hopeless prospect here. Every new kid learns how to stand up for themselves eventually. You might be different. I won’t kill you. Neither will the other campers.” Tom turned to leave, letting his final words drift, sharp and deadly, over his shoulder.

“But you might.”

* * *

Having eaten so little all day, Damon almost gorged himself at dinner, his hunger making the simple grapes and cheese taste better than anything he could remember. Luckily, the Hermes campers talked among themselves which allowed Damon to focus on keeping his mind off of Tom’s words and keeping from provoking his bruises. This was difficult, however, as they were everywhere.

Damon believed every tiny thing Tom had said about him. Not because Tom was cruel, but because he was right. Damon had known for a while that his defense mechanism was to curl up into a ball and cry like a baby. He hated it, but nothing could stop him from being what he was: weak. Other people, strong people, were the ones who got remembered. Weak people like him fell through the cracks of history and memory because there was nothing about them worth remembering, except as a sad, lonely failure at which to laugh.

It was only when he checked his watch saw that it was already 8:15 that he wandered out of his musings and stood up to leave.

Surreptitiously stuffing a few handfuls of grapes and bread into his pocket, Damon slipped quietly out of the Dining Pavilion and began walking across the twilit grounds. However, he hadn’t gone very far when he stopped at the sight of Tors, sitting alone on the grass and staring at him with his huge round eyes.

“Are you ok?”

“No,” said Tors blankly, stumping Damon as to what to say next.

“Uh… thank you for earlier,” he managed.

“What do you mean?”

“During sword skills, you stopped Tom from completely humiliating me.” This wasn’t strictly true; Tom had completely humiliated Damon, but at least Tors had done something.

Tors shrugged.

“He was being mean,” he said simply. Then, he stared intently at Damon with the ghost of curiosity on his face. “You’re being nice to me.”

“Is… that bad?”

“It’s uncommon. People don’t like me.”

“I like you,” said Damon. It was true; Tors’ strangeness was something he found oddly endearing. And he was clearly a nice person, having risked himself just to take Tom down from his high horse, if only for a moment.

“That’s nice. You’re nice. People don’t normally talk to me. They think I’m weird.”

“That’s just-”

“No, they’re right.”

“They should still talk to you,” said Damon awkwardly. “You’re a nice person.”

“Nice…” said Tors distantly. “Nice, nice, nice… You’re nice.”

“Uh… thank you.”

“Nice, nice… Nice…”

Suddenly, Tors’ blank expression changed. He looked sad- achingly so.

“Sorry...” His voice was more grounded now, and when he looked at Damon it felt like he was seeing him more clearly.

“What for?” said Damon quickly. It was strange how much more human Tors seemed now.

“My brain isn’t very nice to me,” said Tors with a direct but gentle honesty that Damon had never heard before. “I’m crazy, the proper kind of crazy. Insane. People can see that, and when they see insane people they remember all the mad and sadistic villains they’ve read about. They remember all the horror movies set in mental asylums. I’m insane; I’m the monster. But I’m a human, too. I’m not dangerous, I’m just crazy. I’m just in pain. I’m just scared. People think, because I’m crazy, I’m a danger to them. But I’m the one in danger from them. Insane people don’t murder, they get murdered. Because we don’t fit. We’re broken and wrong; we’re _crazy_.”

Damon stared at Tors in silence. Tors’ strange, simple way of speaking felt more honest than anything Damon had ever heard. It felt like this monologue had existed only in Tors’ head for the longest time, that this was the first time he’d ever spoken it aloud.

“Sorry,” Tors continued. “I should not have said that. You have enough to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been in agony for a long time. I can recognise it when I see it. Go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” said Damon, unsure. Tors’ mouth opened slightly and then, for the first time, he smiled.

“Ok.”


	7. Secrets, Slaughter and Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter does contain some violence.

Damon just about made it to the southern woods before 8:30. When he arrived outside where the trees began, he saw two figures in the distance and approached them. As he drew closer, it became easier to see who they were- Nico and Percy, standing on the edge of a large pit in the ground. Expecting only Nico, Damon stared at Percy as he reached them.

“Is it ok if I…?”

Damon nodded. Percy seemed to know everything about Camp Half-Blood, and he needed all the answered he could get.

“I got some food,” he said, emptying his pockets and showing them.

“Throw it in the pit,” said Nico, not looking up. Damon did so, backing away from the edge when he had finished. “What’s your dad’s name?”

“Peter Courtes.”

There was a short silence while Nico took a deep breath, stared into the pit, and began to speak.

What came from his mouth was a powerful, earthly chanting that Damon couldn’t decipher, though a few words he somehow understood. After a moment, he realized Nico was chanting in ancient Greek.

As he chanted, Damon felt the air around him turn cold, the wind picking up and whistling eerily through the trees. It felt as though something with sharp teeth and red eyes was approaching, as though Damon was about to face the monster underneath his bed.

When Nico finished, there was a tight silence as the three of them anticipated something to happen. A minute passed, and Nico looked at Damon.

“He’s not coming.”

“He’s… alive?” Damon felt his knees almost buckle with relief. It was only after the release that Damon realized how much weight he’d been carrying. He saw Percy and even Nico flash small smiles in sympathy as Damon tried to return himself to reality. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” said Nico. “I may be Hades’ son but that doesn’t mean he’ll listen to me if I ask him to let your dad go.”

“I have to go down there.” The other pair looked at him, slightly surprised. Percy even looked a little impressed.

“That’s suicide,” said Nico. “When the lord of the dead is actively gunning for you, you don’t walk directly into his arms.”

“It’s dangerous, but not suicide. If Hades really wanted to kill me I wouldn’t be here now. Either he doesn’t really want me dead, or something’s stopping him.” The pair blinked at him. Percy was eyeing him in a new way.

“Leave it for now,” said Percy. “There might be another way. And even if you do go to Hades you’ll need to train first.” Damon knew Percy was right, but he still hated the idea of just leaving his dad down there. Even if he was still alive, how long would he stay that way?

“We should go, it’s almost time for the campfire,” said Percy. The three of them turned to leave, but as they did, a sound caught their attention.

The wind had picked up again, a ghostly whistling emanating from the trees. At the same time, a very faint red light appeared to fill the pit, shining out through the food like embers through coal.

“What’s happening?” asked Damon, fearing the worst. “Is it my dad?”

“No,” said Nico. “It’s… someone who wants to speak to you.”

“Why would a dead person want to speak to me?”

“Usually this happens when the dead want to confront the person who killed them.”

“What?” said Damon, his guts starting to twist.

“Have you ever killed anyone,” said Percy, looking a mixture of serious and confused.

“No, I- No!” yelled Damon, surprising even himself with his volume. Nico and Percy looked at him, but turned their heads when a morbid spectre rose from the pit and looked into Damon's eyes.

The man was middle-aged, with short hair, a cleanly shaven chin and greedy eyes that surveyed Damon hungrily. He looked exactly how Damon remembered him, and the sight of his eyes- those _devouring_ eyes- was wretchedly, terrifyingly familiar.

Damon heard someone scream. It took a moment to realize that it was him.

Then, he hit the ground, and darkness claimed his senses once more.

* * *

Damon was walking home from school. He was alone. Where was mom? Wasn’t she supposed to pick him up?

He kept walking, trying not to get lost on all these identical streets.

There was someone in front of him, waiting for him at the end of the street. Why? Who was it?

This wasn’t right. There hadn’t been anyone in _front_ of him.

Damon reached the figure and stared at it. It took a while for the features to come into focus, but when they did he recognized them easily: Nico.

“Where are you?” said Nico. This confused Damon. Wasn’t it obvious?

“I’m walking home from school. Why are you here?”

“This is a dream.”

“What?”

“You’re dreaming.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Dream and death are siblings, in a way.” Damon pondered this, before he remembered what he was doing.

“I can’t stop, I need to keep walking. I need to get home.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Ok.”

Damon's brain felt strangely slow and foggy, and each thought took more time to form than usual.

“Why are you walking home?” asked Nico.

“School just finished.”

“But why are you scared?”

Damon turned around and pointed at the figure behind, too distant to decipher properly.

“He’s been following me for a while now.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“No.”

“Do you know why he’s following you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure he is following you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

To answer, Damon sped up. Nico followed him as he turned from street to street, winding unpredictably through the identical roads between identical houses. After a minute, he slowed down again, turned round, and pointed at the man who was still there. Still shuffling behind them, only now he was a little closer. Nico was silent for a while before he spoke again.

“What happens next?”

“He catches up,” said Damon blankly. As soon as he said it, the man appeared only a few feet behind him, though he hadn’t seen him move.

Damon turned around fully to face him.

“Why are you following me, sir?”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes looked hungrily at him as if he were a pile of gold for the taking. Damon backed away in fear, with Nico beside him, until the two of them hit a wall, cornered at the end of a thin alleyway. The man drew closer, still with those same greedy eyes fixed on him.

Damon looked at Nico, letting time stop around him. Nico looked at the man, frozen between footsteps, then at Damon.

“It’s ok to be scared of him.”

“I’m not scared of him.”

“You were.”

“No.”

“You said-”

“He’s why I’m scared, but he’s not what I’m scared of.”

Damon looked back at the man and time resumed, the man coming slowly, inexorably closer.

“Then what are you scared of?”

Damon didn’t reply. Fear was starting to twist his guts.

“What happens next?” Nico asked again.

What happens next?

Damon felt the earth shake, felt himself fall to his knees, saw the street and the man and the buildings and everything melt away into nothingness. Everything except Nico, who looked at him with an indecipherable expression.

Red blood began pouring from cracks in the air, filling the basin. Damon tried to swim, but something caught his foot, holding him down. He was falling, falling, calm and terrified, falling…

Damon felt himself wake up in a cold, disgusting sweat. He opened his eyes and was unsurprised to see that he was in the infirmary, only this time there was no sunlight streaming through the windows.

He closed his eyes sat up, trying to calm the heartbeat he didn’t realize had been racing. Then, he heard movement and his eyes snapped open to find the room full of people.

Nico was closest, sitting right beside him. Behind him was Chiron, who stood beside Percy. Behind them was Tors, staring deeply at Damon, and behind him was Sara, who stood awkwardly in the doorway, apparently unsure if she was supposed to be there.

“Sorry,” said Nico to the people behind him. “Clovis might have better luck than me.”

“What happened?” said Damon, confused beyond description at the strange dream, at how Nico had somehow… entered it? When he spoke, everyone in the room looked at him, igniting his anxiety.

“We’re not sure,” said Percy. “The spirit disappeared as soon as you collapsed. We couldn’t wake you up, so we took you here. Nico can enter dreams, so…”

“We would’ve asked your permission,” said Chiron gently, “but that wasn’t really an option.”

“I…” this explanation didn’t seem to explain anything at all. Damon caught Chiron’s eye and saw something there that told him he knew more than he was letting on.

“Everyone’s at the campfire,” said Chiron before Damon could say anything. “We should get back before it finishes.”

The group started filing out of the room and Damon followed, churning things over in his head. As they made their way across to the campfire, both Tors and Sara fell back to walk beside him.

“You ok?” said Sara.

“Yeah,” Damon lied. “Just tired.”

“You aren’t weak,” she said, causing Damon to stop in surprise, Tors and Sara paused, too, and the three of them looked at each other.

“What do you….”

“You’re not weak. Crying doesn’t make you weak.”

“But I still don’t fight back.”

“You’re fighting yourself. You’re fighting harder than any of them.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve been there. I have a disease, it’s called chronic fatigue syndrome. CFS for short. There are a lot of symptoms, not just fatigue, but the short of it is: I’m disabled. The most I can manage in a day is 3 sessions. Two if one of them is sword skills. Not much of a demigod hero, huh?”

“I guess,” said Damon, not taking his eyes off of her.

“But I’m still fighting. I help around camp where I can- I gave you your tour of camp. I know I’m just as much a hero as any of these other losers. They don’t see it that way, though. Want I want more than anything is to go on a quest- a real adventure. I want to be the protagonist, the hero. But no one here is going to invite the disabled girl on a quest, are they?” She paused for breath. “Your anxiety doesn’t make you weak. Crying doesn’t make you weak.”

“This Camp, the gods, the demigods- they don’t seem to think so.”

“They aren’t kind. So we must be in their place.”

Damon stared at her, something resembling warmth bubbling in the place where his anxiety normally resided.

“Thank you.”

They walked the rest of the way to the campfire in silence, where they split up.

“I need to go to bed,” said Sara, looking meaningfully at Damon, who understood. He nodded, and she left without another word, appearing to stumble into Cabin 4. When Damon looked round, Tors had disappeared too, though Damon couldn’t see where he’d gone. He wasn’t even in the crowd around the campfire.

The campfire sing-a-long was uneventful. Damon stayed in pensive silence as the rest of the campers sang, but was not so lost in thought that he failed to notice the occasional glances his way as campers checked to see if he’d finally been claimed.

He hadn’t.

At last, the horn sounded again and the campers started getting up to leave. Damon waited until most had left, as he wanted to be alone.

That was a mistake.

As Damon meandered towards Cabin 11, he was shaken from his head by the sound of a footstep behind him. He turned round, but it was too dark to properly make out who was standing there. All he could tell was that it was maybe 3, 4, 5… he lost count of the shadowy figures before him.

They were swift and merciless. Blunt edges and fists found every inch of him and punished him for not keeping it safe. Damon tasted blood on his teeth and saw it dripping from his forehead. Every time he cried he felt them double down on him, as if training him like a dog to keep the emotions, the tears inside. None spoke, except for one venomous hissing in his ear.

“This won’t be the last time, crybaby queer.”

And just like that, Damon was alone. Huddled and crying on the ground. Pathetic and feeble and gross and weak.

The failure he had always been.


	8. Winning and Losing at Capture the Flag

Damon staggered to his feet, standing very still until the ringing in his ears stopped and the urge to vomit faded. He could feel it coming.

It terrified him.

He needed to get somewhere private, somewhere safe. Somewhere they wouldn’t notice the carnage. He ran, desperate and aching and sobbing, into the woods. Once inside, he kept running. He suddenly realized, he couldn’t do it near a tree- Grover had mentioned Nymphs. If he damaged a tree, it could kill them.

He found a clearing. The trees were far enough away, he knew he could protect them, and let himself collapse to his knees, his tears hitting the ground as loudly as coins.

He’d promised himself this would never happen again. Never.

But this was worse than last time. He’d held it in for so long, repressed it so far down in his head, it had been building like a bomb, ready to explode and destroy everything. Everything.

Damon closed his eyes and, hating himself, gave up.

The effect was instant- the shaking, the rustling, the earthly croaking. Suddenly, the entire forest around him went silent, just for a moment, before noise erupted into his ear like nothing he’d heard before. He could… _hear_ the trees, the birds, the squirrels, and probably a hundred impossible animals Grover would teach him about. He could feel the plants, vines unsure if he was friend or foe, itching to flee but attracted to him like bees to honey. Something inside him exploded, and the shaking and moaning became a hundred times worse. Now, he could feel the earth itself writhing and churning like gastric juices. It was terrifying, and he was _making it happen_. A pain in his head grew and grew until it felt like dirty fingernails were prising his skull apart.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, everything around him stopped, and the forest fell deathly silent.

Exhausted, drained, and still crying, Damon opened his eyes. He didn’t want to look at the carnage he’d caused but it was everywhere. No matter where he looked his gaze couldn’t escape it. He stood up and staggered to the edge of the clearing.

At least he had protected the trees.

“Please,” he whispered, crying into the nearest trunk. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Though the tree didn’t move, Damon seemed to feel it. It was pitying him. Well, pathetic as he was, he was used to pity. But Damon also somehow felt that these Nymphs would keep his secret. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the type of carnage he’d created.

Now all he had to do was make sure no one found this place. Damon relaxed the tiniest amount at the thought of how well hidden it was. No one really had a reason to enter the forest, especially not this far deep.

Pained, stumbling and alone, Damon walked back to Cabin 11. The walk felt longer, perhaps because he was so tired, but also because Damon forced himself to pay attention to what he was doing, not permitting himself to get lost in thought. If he did, he knew exactly where he would go, and that could not happen. He would not let it. He reached the door, pushed it open, and slipped inside.

He had hoped everyone would be asleep. They were not. Every single eye in the cabin instantly turned to look at him.

“What happened to you?” asked Connor looking slightly alarmed.

“Oh, yeah,” said Damon, having quite forgotten about his spectacular purple bruises and cuts still bleeding profusely. “I…”

Damon considered telling them, but Tom’s words echoed around his head and he thought he knew what Tom meant. Telling them would be pathetic, weak, it would be what a crybaby would do. It would cement is position as an easy target. It would be asking for pity, for help.

“I tripped.” This was probably the least convincing lie Damon could’ve told. No trip could turn someone completely purple.

“You did _not_ trip,” said Connor, ghosting a laugh. Damon couldn’t manage a convincing lie, so instead opted to be vague.

“I lost.”

“No kidding,” said Connor. “Maybe you do have some backbone. Lights out, everyone.”

The Cabin turned dark, but Damon lay awake for a long time. A battle between his pain and fatigue waged on until fatigue won and he fell into a guilty, uneasy sleep.

* * *

Demeter, Athena, Aphrodite, Iris, Nemesis, Nike, Hebe, Tyche, Hecate. The next day, it didn’t take long for Damon to compile a list of the possible candidates for his mother. Of course, this didn’t help much, seeing as she could also have been some other, intensely obscure minor goddess, but Damon couldn’t help himself from running the list through his mind until he could recite it in his sleep.

Not much particularly new happened that whole week, except for a few new worsts. Damon thought he’d been worst at sword fighting, but then archery seemed to take the cake, and then it was wrestling, followed by unarmed combat. There wasn’t a single thing at camp Damon was good at. He isolated himself for the most part, gritting his teeth as his injuries stung and ached. He didn’t feel any tougher, though. He felt sadder than he ever had in his life, but now not a single tear fell down his cheeks. He was still the crybaby, he had just figured out how to wear a mask. Probably just like everyone else. Maybe he was finally becoming normal.

As Friday approached, the seed of an idea planted in his brain began to take root. It grew stronger each day, watered by Damon's obsessive thoughts about whatever goddess had decided not to claim him until it grew like a vine, suffocating any other thoughts until it had complete dominance of his imagination.

The only thing to truly shake him from this rapture was when Connor told him about capture the flag.

“The whole forest’s fair game, and the creek is the-”

“The forest?” Damon felt his stomach drop.

“Yeah, why?” said Connor looking curious. Connor was a trickster, and therefore cleverer than first impressions would indicate. Damon could see him puzzling him out.

“Just, aren’t there Nymphs in there?” Damon tried to cover himself with a convincing enough lie.

“Well we don’t go around stabbing trees,” said Connor sarcastically. “Only each other.”

“Wait, what?”

As it turned out, Connor wasn’t kidding. As evening approached, a buzz of excitement charged the air, sparks flying at every release. After dinner, the Athena cabin, lead by Annabeth, carried in a long, silky gray banner with an owl and an olive tree painted on the flowing cloth. At the same time, the Hephaestus cabin carried in a banner of identical size, though theirs was dusty red and painted with a brutal hammer and anvil.

“Do they always lead the teams?”

“Nope. Depends on who won last. But tonight’s special. Expect some fireworks.”

“Why?”

“Last week Annabeth got the flag from right under Percy’s nose. He’s real bitter about it. So bitter he's allied with the Ares cabin, and _that_ doesn't happen often.”

“I thought Percy and Annabeth were dating?”

“They are. That’s how they affection.”

“So who’s side are we on?” Connor grinned.

“We’re allied with Athena. So are Hades, Hecate, Demeter, Hebe, Tych and Dionysus. Oh, and Aphrodite and Hypnos, but I doubt they’ll be much help. Everyone else is with Hephaestus. Be careful of Ares, they’re a tough lot. Percy’s dangerous too, but he’s nice enough not to maim you.”

“And Ares aren’t?”

Connor raised his eyebrows, which didn’t do much to settle Damon’s nerves. However, it wasn’t his opponents that worried him, it was his teammates. Working with Athena meant working with Tom, and that could only end badly.

Chiron slammed his hoof on the marble floor, commanding attention.

“Heroes! You know the rules. The creek is the boundary line. The entire forest is fair game. All magical items are allowed. The banner must be prominently displayed, and have no more than two guards. Prisoners may be disarmed, but not bound or gagged. No killing or maiming is allowed. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. Arm yourselves!”

At once, what looked like the entire contents of the armory appeared on each of the tables.

“These… aren’t real, right?”

“Would it make you less nervous if I said no?” Connor was still smiling, but Damon’s heart was almost in his throat. “Here, these should work.”

Within minutes, Damon was equipped with more metal than he knew what to do with. His shield felt like carrying a brick, his helmet was plumed and ridiculous, and his sword felt awkward in his hands. But at least it had reach, unlike the tiny blade still in his back pocket.

“Blue team forwards!” Damon heard Annabeth yell, and everyone with a blue-plumed helmet lurched forwards and began marching clankily towards the forest.

“What do I do with all this?” said Damon, glancing down at his clumsily worn armor, his nerves doubling with every passing minute.

“Try not to get captured,” said Connor, unencouragingly. “It’s your first game, so just hang out in the forest and take down anyone on the red team if you see them. Annabeth has a plan; she always does.”

So Damon was relegated to the sidelines. It was humiliating, but even he had to admit it was probably for the best.

It was a strange night. Though the earth was cracked and dry, the air felt humid and alive. Damon wandered, alone, through the trees. His only goal was to find the wreckage he’d created and hide it at all cost. After all, it’s not like the outcome of the game depended on him. As he stumbled from root to root, looking for something he recognized from his previous trip into the forest, Damon heard the forest’s noises like music. Sometimes the melody was a birdsong, others it was the rare sight of a teammate rushing past him towards enemy territory.

“Hi,” said a soft voice, somewhere between a clarinet and a bassoon. Damon whipped around and almost jumped out of his skin when a young girl seemed to melt out of a nearby tree.

“Uh… hi,” said Damon hesitantly, trying to smile at the Nymph, who laughed at him, though not unkindly. She was beautiful, with short, pitch black hair and eyes so green they almost glowed. Damon wondered how much she knew, given the Nymphs were the only ones to see his episode. At least, he hoped they were. “I’m Damon.”

“I’m Ash,” she said, breathily.

“My middle name’s Ash,” said Damon in a clumsy attempt at conversation. “Well, technically it’s Asher, but…” he trailed off, not really knowing what he was saying. Ash laughed again, walking closer to him.

“You’re cute,” she smiled, her green eyes sparkling.

“Oh, I, uh…” Damon’s brain screeched to a halt, completely out of his depth.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she breathed, now only a couple of feet away from him. “None of us will.”

“About what I… about that night?” Ash nodded, her black hair glinting in the leaf-filtered light. She sat down, her legs crossed like a child ready to learn. After a moment, Damon joined her, setting his sword on the ground beside him.

“But,” Damon continued, “what if the other campers find it?”

“They won’t.”

“How can you-”

“This is our turf. Our forest.”

“But why? Why would you do that for me?”

“Maybe because we like you.”

“Why would you like me?”

Ash blinked at him, apparently surprised by the question, but Damon just couldn’t understand why someone would ever like him.

Then, Damon heard something to his right and his head snapped around.

“You should be more careful where you leave this,” said a cold voice. It was Tom, towering above Damon and standing squarely on his sword. Damon tugged at it, but the blade would not budge. Tom laughed, joined by the several other campers behind him, one of whom even had a red plume.

“What are you-” but Damon was cut off when Tom kicked the sword forcefully away before raising his own.”

“We’re on the same team!” Damon protested in panic, scrambling clumsily backward. Ash had disappeared.

“We’ve done our bit in getting the flag,” said Tom. “We just want to have some fun.” He stepped closer and brought his sword down with dangerous force. Damon only just reacted in time.

With an acidic _clang_ , Tom’s sword met Damon’s knife, sending vibrations up his arm. Damon saw those cold blue eyes widen, then narrow.

“No freak here to save you now,” he hissed. The other campers edged out from behind him and surrounded Damon, cutting off any escape. Damon backed up as far as he could, into the nearest tree, and stood up.

“That your surprise trick?” Tom sneered, stepping closer and smiling at the ridiculously tiny blade Damon was holding. “You’ll have to show me how you use it in Sword Skills. If you survive till then.”

“Trust me,” whispered a voice in Damon’s ear. He looked around but saw only the tree he was leaning against.

Something in his brain clicked, and Ash’s voice whispered again.

“Trust me.”

As Tom launched another blow, he felt an invisible hand guide his knife to the left, twisting it so that Tom’s blade landed squarely at the hilt. Then, with Ash’s guidance, Damon pushed, causing Tom to trip over a tree root as he stumbled backward.

“Don’t stop touching the tree,” said Ash again, and Damon stopped himself from advancing on Tom or fleeing altogether. As Tom regained his balance, he growled dangerously as the other campers drew closer. He approached again, this time for a more intelligent blow. Damon doubted he could pull off the same block twice.

Just then, the horn sounded and distant cheers echoed from over the forest. Tom turned to look, and Damon seized the opportunity, grabbing his sword and wrenching it from his hand, turning, and pointing it back at its owner, all while keeping one foot firmly grounded on the tree’s root. Tom looked back and simply held his hand up in a mock-surrender.

“Looks like we won, crybaby queer,” he sneered, and Damon felt his blood boil, felt tears almost sting his eyes, but he forced them down again. “Doesn’t look like you were much help.”

Damon didn’t feel like a winner. At this point, he wasn’t even sure he cared. Tom and his cronies turned to leave, marching out of the forest and cackling to each other as they went, leaving Damon alone, still touching the tree.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Don’t mention it,” said the whisper in his ear. “Come back sometimes?”

“Sure,” said Damon, turning from the tree and walking resolutely out of the forest.

When he reached the edge of the trees, quite the sight awaited him. Percy was holding the banner, which was now sea green, emblazoned with a powerful blue trident. At the same time, Annabeth was yelling at Tom.

“You IDIOT, you’re Athena’s son, you’re supposed to be _smart_. You left your post?!”

“We got the prisoners,” said Tom, trying to get a word in, but Annabeth cut him off.

“Does that mean the battle was over? And now _look_! SEAWEED-BRAIN’S GOT THE FLAG!”

Percy sidled up to her, and she turned to him, smiling warmly. “Congratulations,” Annabeth said without a hint of anger in her voice. The pair kissed, and Annabeth turned back to Tom.

“And don’t even get me STARTED on you working WITH THE ENEMY.”

 _Huh,_ thought Damon, _maybe I can start to enjoy myself here._


	9. Chiron is Overwhelmed by Four Teenagers and a Tree

Though capture the flag was a victory (kind of), Damon was still out of place. He still suffered, constantly biting back the tears in his eyes so as not to betray any emotion, especially when Tom targeted him during sword skills as retribution for the embarrassment of capture the flag. As an escape, Damon retreated to his imagination. Questions buzzed around like angry hornets inside his brain, stinging his synapses in the effort to make him think. _Demeter, Athena, Aphrodite, Iris, Nemesis, Nike, Hebe, Tych, Hecate_ ; The list played on insidious repeat inside his head.

His dad was still down there, still trapped in the Underworld. And Hades was after his blood, but… Damon was still alive? What was stopping him? And he hadn’t been claimed. And Damon was sure that Chiron was still hiding something. And...

That idea, driven temporarily from his head by the spectacle of capture the flag, returned in full, strangling vigor. Within a few days, Damon submit to it, his curiosity and desperation and just plain _anger_ forcing their way out.

That afternoon, Damon headed to the Big House, his jaw clenched in determination. He found Chiron, accompanied by Mr. D. They were deep in conversation and Mr. D rolled his watery eyes as Damon approached.

“What is it?” said Mr. D, not even pretending to care. “Did someone hurt your feelings?” He waved his hand and a glass of wine appeared in it, which he drank from. Apparently, even Mr. D knew of his reputation as the crybaby.

“I want to go to Hades.” Whatever the pair of them had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Mr. D nearly spit out his wine, which made Damon smile internally.

“You fool. Are you suicidal?”

“Yes.” Damon had expected the first person he would admit this to would be a therapist. He supposed a god and a centaur would have to do.

“Are you trying to impress me?” Mr. D said dryly.

“I’ve been suicidal for a long time. I want to go to Hades and I don’t care if I get back out again.”

“You won’t,” said Chiron, surveying him.

“Why not? Orpheus did.”

“That is an incredibly different situation.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Chiron trailed off, so Damon finished his sentence for him.

“Because Hades wasn’t actively gunning for Orpheus, was he?” Damon saw both men’s eyes shift slightly.

“So you knew. You knew Hades was after me. Doesn’t that _maybe_ seem like something I should know?” The words came out angry and sarcastic, and Mr. D’s eyes flashed.

“Don’t snark with me, boy.” Damon saw a dangerous and unimaginable fire behind those eyes and knew that if he pushed it, that same fire would burn him to the ground. It twisted and brayed behind those blue pupils, and, for the first time, Damon truly understood that Dionysus was a god, and would turn him madder than Tors if he so desired.

“Noted,” said Damon, attempting bravado but hearing the fear in his voice. Satisfied, Mr. D quelled the fire behind his eyes and turned to Chiron.

“I can’t let you go to your death,” said Chiron. “You don’t have a chance of getting out alive.”

“If the Lord of the Dead wanted to kill me that badly, I wouldn’t be standing here. Something’s stopping him.”

“That is a conjecture at best-”

“He’s right,” said a voice from behind them. They all turned to see a shadow shift and dissipate, revealing Nico hiding underneath it. “Hades is losing his power.”

“How do you know?” said Chiron.

“Because I’m losing my power, too. Everything I do is weaker. I can’t even shadow travel anymore.”

“Do you know what’s causing this?”

“No. Someone would have to go to the Underworld and speak with Hades to find out.”

“Can’t you-”

“No shadow travel. I’m cut off.”

“Even if that is the case,” said Chiron, regaining composure, “Damon is, dare I say it, not exactly quest material.”

“You should give him more credit,” said a fifth voice, this one emanating from behind Mr. D. The air there seemed to shiver, and soon Percy stood there holding a baseball cap.

“Are there any other eavesdroppers care to reveal themselves?” said Mr. D bitterly.

“Damon is… inexperienced,” continued Chiron.

“I’m also right here,” Damon mumbled nervously.

“He’s got the nerve to go to Hades,” Percy persisted.

“He has anxiety.”

“So he’s more scared than most half-bloods have ever been. And therefore just as brave as any of them.”

“Stop it,” said Damon, panicking. Suddenly he realized the stupidity of his plan, of even trying. “I’m not brave. I’m pathetic.”

“You can be both,” said Percy, grinning. Then he turned to Chiron, looking more serious than Damon had ever seen him. “He’s not safe here. Hades isn’t one to give up, weakened or not. If he stays here it’s only a matter of time.”

“I… fine,” conceded Chiron. “You may consult the Oracle, child, but I’m not making any promises.”

“Thank you.”

As Percy lead him to the ‘Cave of the Oracle’ as he called it, explaining how the Oracle would give him a prophecy. Damon was fascinated, and badgered him with questions.

“Do prophecies always come true?”

“Yes, but they can still surprise you. Prophecies often have double meanings, so you don’t always know what they mean until it’s too late.”

“Sounds useful.”

“Tell me about it,” said Percy, rolling his eyes as they approached the cave, the entrance of which was covered in a purple curtain and framed with a torch on each side. Percy pushed Damon forwards, and he carefully brushed through the curtain and entered, the torches flickering in the afternoon sun.

Inside, the walls were painted with a hundred fantastical things, each as indecipherable as a dream. Large couches dotted the rough stone floor, and a redheaded girl sat in the center, staring at him.

“You’re new,” she said, smiling.

“Are you the Oracle?” The girl nodded, then frowned, looking closely at his face.

“Damon.” He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that an Oracle would know his name. “How much has Chiron told you?”

“Almost nothing.” The girl’s forehead creased slightly before she spoke again.

“A quest?” Damon nodded, and at once the girl closed her eyes and opened her mouth.

A trail of smoke wafted out of it, contorted and writhed in the air, as if attempting to find a shape, before dissipating completely. A voice, hissing and ancient, echoed around the cave.

 

_"A trio under mortal eyes_

_Will find his lord a futile prize_

_Delaying old, unfated war_

_And loss to all but high four-score"_

 

In an instant, the smoke reappeared and returned to the girl’s mouth like water sucked down a plughole. She opened her eyes.

“Weird.”

“No kidding.”

“No, I mean, that one felt… different,” she paused for a second before looking up. “You should go.”

She wasn’t being unkind, Damon just understood that this was his time to leave. His audience was over.

“And,” she called after him as he left, “ask Chiron about the Mist.”

Damon stepped out of the cave to find Percy waiting.

“How was it?”

“...bizarre,” said Damon.

“Sounds like it went well, then.”

Damon opened his mouth to speak, but a second figure standing next to Percy made him double take. Ash was staring at him with her glowing green eyes.

“I hear you’re angling for a quest.”

“Who told you? I only just-”

“Word spreads fast among trees. How’s Chiron taking it?”

“Reluctantly,” said Percy.

“I’m not surprised. There’s something you should know.”

“What?” said Damon.

“Ask Chiron,” she said cryptically.

Damon looked curiously at her, and she flashed a somewhat strange smile in return- half knowing, half concerned. Percy looked at them both, then turned and led the way back to the Big House.

The three of them returned, and Damon recited the prophecy for Chiron, Percy, Nico, Ash and Annabeth, who had arrived while he was at the cave. Mr. D had disappeared, probably because he didn’t have a fuck to give about this whole situation.

“ _A trio under mortal eyes_ ,” said Percy. “Sounds like a 3-person quest to me.”

“ _Will find his lord a futile prize_ ,” said Annabeth. “Whatever that means it doesn’t sound good.”

“ _Delaying old, unfated war_ ,” continued Percy. That’s even worse.

“Unless ‘unfated’ means it isn’t predetermined. Maybe we can avoid it,” reasoned Annabeth.

“ _And loss to all but high four-score_ ,” Percy finished. “What does that mean?”

“Could be the Big 3, plus Hera,” said Annabeth. “The four highest gods.”

“Even so,” said Chiron, reigning Percy and Annabeth in. “What do you even intend to do once you get to Hades?”

“If I can restore his power somehow,” said Damon, “Maybe he’ll stop trying to kill me.”

“Gods don’t need to play fair. They’re gods.”

“I’ll make him swear it. On the river Styx.” Despite the cloudless sky, Damon heard thunder from the distance. “He’s losing his power. He’ll need it back one way or another.”

“I’d advise against bargaining with Hades. You’d be fortunate to live, let alone win. There are circumstances beyond your control that-” Chiron stopped himself, apparently having said too much.

“What circumstances?” asked Damon. Then, remembering what the Oracle had said, he pressed further. “And what about the Mist.” Chiron looked sharply at him, as if deciding how much to say. Judging by his expression, he had apparently decided against saying anything. It didn’t matter, however, as at this point Ash stepped forwards.

“It’s fading,” she said, and Chiron looked at her, increasingly overwhelmed by the growing number of teenagers surrounding him. “Right, Chiron?”

“Yes,” Chiron admitted. “The Mist is fading.”

“Since when?” asked Annabeth, her intelligent eyes scanning over him.

“I don’t know,” said Chiron. “The gods tell me very little. I’m not sure how much even our Mr. D knows. But something is happening. To the Mist, to Hades, to Mount Olympus itself. I can’t explain a fraction of it. All I know is that you are in my care, and I do not wish to send you to almost certain death.”

“‘Almost’,” said Damon, seeing Chiron inwardly curse his word choice. “Not _completely_ certain death. Someone needs to find out what’s happening, and it may as well be me. I’m not safe here, not with Hades after me. This might be my only shot at getting him off my back.”

Chiron looked at him, sighed deeply, and conceded.

“Just… bring the two strongest demigods you can convince to join you. You’ll need all the help you can get.”

“Don’t worry,” said Damon. “I’ve got the perfect two in mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's started, so it might be a little longer before the next chapter. I'll still get it out ASAP, though- I'm really enjoying writing this story and I'm very excited about what I have planned in the future. If you have any questions, feel free to leave them below and I'll leave a suitably cryptic answer :D.


	10. Equine Retribution

“You aren’t serious,” said Chiron, looking as though he genuinely believed Damon was joking.

“Deadly.”

“But Sara, she’s, well, she’s…”

“She’s what?”

“She’s _disabled_.”

“And?” This time, Damon's nerves didn’t scratch at the inside of his skin. Even when he saw Percy, Annabeth, Ash and Nico- all previously on his side- look unsure.

“And Tors is brand new at camp. He’s just as inexperienced as you. Percy, you could-”

“I’m done with quests,” said Percy, sounding far older and wearier than he looked. Chiron transferred his gaze to Annabeth, who shrugged apologetically, then to Nico, who simply raised his eyebrows. Damon could tell none of them approved of his choices, but that was because none of them knew how strong they truly were.

“What about a warrior- someone from the Ares cabin? Or a skilled swordsman. Tom from Cabin 6 is-”

“No,” said Damon firmly. All of them looked less sure of him by the second. Except, perhaps, Ash and Percy. Both had an intriguing gleam in their eye- as if they were only half concerned, and their other half was intrigued.

Damon persisted.

“I want Sara Crest and Tors Crier on my quest with me. Provided they accept, of course.” Damon felt like he knew Sara’s answer, but with Tors he wasn’t so sure. Besides, if Sara knew what the quest was even she might decline.

“I’ll ask them,” said Chiron hesitantly.

“No, I’ll ask them.” Damon had the feeling Chiron wouldn’t try particularly hard to persuade them to come.

Damon left in a hurry. Tears leaked from his eyes, but he didn’t have time for them now. He wiped them away impatiently and kept walking. It took him a little while to find Tors, who was spending his free time kneeled on the grass, staring at something there that apparently no one else could see. He did indeed look thoroughly mad.

But when Damon looked closely, he saw that Tors was staring at three brownish, rotten patches on the grass, so faint they were almost nonexistent: the last traces of blood from the second cerastes.

“Tors.”

“Damon,” said Tors without looking up.

“I got a quest from Chiron. Do you want to come?”

Tors didn’t seem surprised, but when he stood up Damon saw that he was smiling- a rare thing on Tors’ face. “You’re going to the Underworld?”

“I can’t ask you to put yourself in that kind of danger for-”

“I’m coming,” Tors affirmed.

“Thanks.”

“Sara?” he asked, knowingly.

“Of course.”

Sara took the news a little less calmly than Tors. A little.

“WHAT?! YOU GOT A QUEST? HOW THE- AND YOU WANT ME TO- WHAT?! _DI IMMORTALES_ I-” but Sara stopped her astonished yelling. “I’ll only slow you down,” she said heavily.

“Then we go slowly,” Damon said. “Do you want to come? It _is_ the Underworld. It’s unlikely we’ll get back out alive. I can’t ask you to-”

“Yes,” she breathed, flowers springing up from the ground everywhere in a twelve-foot radius. “I would like to come.”

It took what felt like no time at all before the three of them were fully packed- Chiron reluctantly gave them mortal money, Drachmas, and a supply of Nectar and Ambrosia for emergencies. In a blur, they were fitted with weapons- Tors and Sara each given swords that looked like metal bracelets when they weren’t using them. Damon didn’t receive one, however; Chiron told him he already had a weapon. You know, in case he needed to defend himself against a hamster.

This quest could be the last thing Damon ever did- and he was alright with that. Either he would leave the underworld with his dad, or he wouldn’t leave the underworld at all. He couldn’t bring that fate on Tors and Sara, however. He would have to say goodbye to them somewhere along the way. But he could still enjoy himself till then, right?

“Damon,” said a voice, shaking him from his musings. It was Charlie Skye, the daughter of Hephaestus who had been claimed his first night at camp. “Good luck on your quest.”

“Thanks,” said Damon, both surprised and touched. Then, Charlie withdrew something from her pocket.

“Chiron said you needed an instrument, to open the Door of Orpheus. Will and I worked together to make you this.” She held the object out from him: a small, harp-like instrument made mostly of metal and bolts.

“I’m no good at music,” said Damon.

“You don’t need to be,” said Charlie, still holding out the harp. “Try it.”

Intrigued, Damon took it from her and began strumming haphazardly at the strings. Somehow, and Damon wasn’t sure how, the music that followed was a completely in-tune rendition of ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star’.

“We made it so anyone can play it,” said Charlie, almost laughing at Damon’s shock. “Even you.”

“Thanks,” said Damon sincerely. Charlie returned him a simple, honest smile, and walked back towards the cabins.

Then, something touched Damon's shoulder and he turned to see Percy looking at him.

“You all set to leave?” Damon nodded. “I’m jealous, you know. My first quest I had to travel to the Underworld.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I had to go to California, _and_ I couldn’t even go by plane. You’ll do it in a fraction of the time I did. Just… don’t overestimate yourself. Hades may be weakening but he’s still a god. Rub him the wrong way and you’ll have a very long time to spend regretting it. Be careful.”

“You were calling the gods assholes just a few days ago,” Damon protested, but Percy stopped him, glancing towards the sky.

“I got lucky. I’ve been around the block a few times, I can risk it.”

Percy smiled mischievously again, but Damon saw weariness and concern behind his eyes. Percy was reckless, sure, but maybe he had license to be. Maybe Damon should be more cautious.

“Good luck,” he said finally.

“Thanks.”

Damon turned to go, his knife feeling particularly small in his pocket which, given its size, was quite the achievement.

As he walked, Damon found himself with more determination than he was used to. This feeling that he was doing something, mad as it was, filled him with a somewhat foreign feeling- the vaguest hint of happiness.

All at once, the happiness seeped through Damon's veins like venom, tensing his muscles until he was doubled over in pain- dizzying, ecstatic agony. Damon's hands gripped the dirt and dug into it like claws. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it left. Damon stood up, hoping no one had noticed. Wishing more than anything that the episodes would just _go_ _away_.

“Ready?” said Sara as he approached.

“Ready.”

“Good luck,” said Chiron, who had come to see them off. He was oddly silent as they entered the van to be driven by Argus- a blond surfer-dude who looked mostly normal except for the hundred eyes in every part of his body.

“Damon,” he said at the last moment. “Do not forget that Hades is a god. He may be weakening, but he is more powerful than you can fathom. All gods are. Be careful.”

“I will,” said Damon, trying to ignore his nerves. Chiron sounded exactly like Percy “I will.”

Chiron raised his bow in a grave and doubtful salute as they drifted away down Farm Road towards the realm of the dead.

* * *

Tors spent the entire ride in silence, while Damon tried not to think of the impossibility of what they were about to do.

“I never asked,” said Sara, making small talk. Apparently, she was not the kind of person who enjoyed silence. “I never saw your satyr around- who was it?”

“What do you mean ‘my’ satyr?” said Damon confused.

“Your protector. At your school? The one who brought you to camp?” Damon looked at her, not understanding.

“I was brought here by Pollux. From Cabin 12?”

“Wait… really? Chiron doesn’t send half-bloods to find other half-bloods.”

“Chiron is hiding something,” said Tors blankly, staring at the seat in front of him. His eyebrows were twitching slightly. Though his stare looked as vacant and ghostly as always, Damon could somehow tell that he was excited and this was his way of showing it.

“Yeah,” agreed Damon. “I keep getting the sense he knows more than he’s letting on.”

“About your mother?” said Sara carefully.

“Maybe…”

“You’re hiding something too, Damon,” said Tors.

“I… what?” but Tors became silent again, staring vacantly ahead. Sara and Damon looked at each other before both looking away in nervous silence.

Damon simply stared out of the window, watching Camp Half-Blood drift so much further away.

His nerves were still there, but the sheer feeling of doing _something_ helped him manage them. And, one way or another, he would see his dad again.

But then Damon remembered his mom- his stepmom. This could mean he was leaving her behind, having lost both her husband and her kid. He began second-guessing himself, only able to console himself with the knowledge that, with him gone, he would no longer be putting her in danger.

Once Argus dropped them off, it was only a short journey. Still, Damon’s backpack cut into his shoulders, weighing almost as heavily on him as his creeping doubts. He hadn’t realized just how close the Door of Orpheus was, and how little time he would be able to spend with Tors and Sara before he would have to say goodbye. As they weaved through the busy New York streets, Damon tuned in and out of his surroundings, completely failing to notice the immediate danger they were in.

“We’re being followed,” said Tors quietly. Damon and Sara looked at him.

“Are you sure? Asked Damon, turning to look, but Tors hissed at him.

“Don’t turn around. We need to lose them. Two men, black suits. Not friendly.”

Sara didn’t speak but began touching her bracelet, ready to spring into combat at any moment. Damon felt his nerves rise, too, though for quite a different reason. The old memories began bubbling again, and he hastened not to think about them.

They followed Tors, winding in and out of streets and intersections, making awkward and unpredictable turns, always looking for a dense crowd to get lost in. Damon kept resisting the urge to turn his head, which only left him to stew in just how familiar this felt. When he finally allowed himself an almost imperceptible glance behind them, he instantly saw who Tors was talking about: tall, stern, and dressed in a sharp black suit. But only one. Damon gave a small sigh of relief as he turned back around.

“Good news, I think we’ve lost one of them.”

“Really?” said Sara. Damon heard the same relief in her voice, but Tors was less happy.

“That’s not good news.”

“What? Why?” said Sara, and Damon heard the fear in her voice return. To answer, Tors simply pointed ahead of them.

Damon followed his finger and felt his stomach drop. A second man, dressed identically to the first, was standing between them and the next intersection. They were trapped.

The trio stopped abruptly, scanning back and forth for possible escape routes.

“In here,” said Sara quickly, and she dove into the nearest building, which happened to be a clothing store. Damon and Tors followed her and, once inside, slid between clothing racks until each found a suitable hiding place. Damon could see both Tors and Sara across the aisles, but was too nervous to risk looking over the pile of jumpers in front of him to get a look at the door. Thankfully, the store was largely empty and quiet, so he heard the bell ring as someone opened the door.

Damon felt his breathing almost stop, his pulse racing in contrast. Strangely, four of footsteps began drifting around the room, and he felt his himself grip his tiny knife so tightly his hand shook as two of the pairs approached, unable to know if they belonged to a pursuer or a simple customer, or both. Movement caught his eye, and Damon looked to see Tors’ wide and staring eyes making strange jerking movements to Damon’s left. Damon followed his gaze and saw a display mirror just in time to notice the dark figure behind him, draw his, knife, and block the blow, sending the pile of jumpers toppling to the floor. Suddenly, what few ordinary shoppers there were screamed and gasped, and Damon knew why.

One of the suited men had brought a silvery sword crashing down on Damon’s head. Only, he wasn’t a man anymore. Those four sets of footsteps were, in fact, two sets of footsteps, each belonging to something with four legs. Damon stood beneath a centaurish beast: the body and legs of a man attached crudely to the hindquarters of a horse. He looked exactly like Mr. Mane, right up to the cruel gleam in his eyes.

Damon stumbled backward, causing the monster to bear down on him like a predator. There was a stampede of bodies as shoppers attempted to flee the store, only to be blocked by the other suited man, now as much a beast as the other, standing in front of the door. Using the flurry of movement as a distraction, Damon retreated to where Tors and Sara stood, each holding their bracelets above their head, which shimmered and grew into long, bronze swords. Damon shrugged off the backpack, allowing him freer movement with his knife.

“We need to protect the mortals,” said Sara, looking at the crowd now scattering around the store in blind panic.

“We’re the target,” said Tors, his voice somehow both calm and terrified. “If we can get out, they’ll follow us.”

“Why are they even after us?” said Sara. “Centaurs don’t attack demigods like this.”

“Centaurs?” growled the first beast, approaching them with a raised sword and wicked glare. “You dare label us such mules? We are Ipotanes.”

As he slashed, Tors raised his sword, cause a deafening clang as the two blades met.

There was more movement as the terrified shoppers stampeded past, attempting to get away from the Ipotane at the door. In one movement, the first Ipotane grabbed a child from the crowd and held him roughly by the shoulder, putting his blade against his neck.

“Drop your weapons.” His voice was acidic and cruel. The trio froze, staring at small drops of blood begin to trickle down the boy’s neck. “I said DROP THEM.”

With no alternative, Tors, Sara and Damon all lowered their weapons, letting them fall to the floor with a series of clumsy thuds. The Ipotane smiled.

“You killed our father,” he said, staring at Damon. “I never thought I could avenge him so soon.”

“Mr. Mane?” said Damon, trying to keep the beast occupied while his mind whirred to think of an escape. The boy began crying as what must have been his father stood, shaking, staring at his son’s life being decided. Damon felt his own tears began to fall, and pushed them away impatiently.

“MR. MANE?” roared the Ipotane at the door, braying and slamming his human feet on the ground like hooves. “You dare defile him with that mortal name?”

A slight movement caught Damon’s eye, and he glanced towards it. Behind the first Ipotane, two plants were growing through the floorboards: a growth of ivy and a thin rope of stems with red berries, creeping silently up behind the Ipotane as he held the boy in a fierce grip. Damon looked at Sara to see her concentrating intensely, and he rushed to keep all the focus on him so that neither beast would see the plants.

“He was a lousy teacher. Didn’t know half the stuff he was talking about.” Both Ipotanes neighed dangerously.

“Even with this weak Mist, he was strong enough to blind you.”

“Not strong enough to take me out, though, huh?”

"You had help," he hissed. Damon saw him hear something, and begin to turn his head.

"I kept his sword. He was no good with it anyway." The Ipotanes' attention turned back to him and Damon saw their eyes narrow.

“You half-blood scum. I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

At once, the plants wrapped themselves tightly around the first Ipotane’s legs and pulled, sending him to the floor. The child ran to his father, both sobbing profusely, but Damon wasted no time in grabbing his knife and hurling it at the beast, hitting it squarely in the chest. The Ipotane roared, then melted away into shimmering blue powder as his sword clattered to the ground. The Ipotane at the door screamed in fury, launching towards them with a raised sword, sending clothing displays flying. Damon dived out of the way as Sara lunged forwards, slashing at the four legs and sending the monster stumbling. She took the opportunity and wrenched the sword out of his hands before she raised her own blade and sent it through the Ipotane’s chest. Like his brother, he roared, then melted away, leaving two piles of blue dust on the floor.

There was a noise at the door, causing Damon to look up. His stomach dropped as he saw several armed police officers stare at them.

Sara was still holding her sword, the blade covered in blood.

“Drop your weapon, and place your hands on your head!”


	11. An Inconvenient Arrest

The jail cell was small and extremely unclean. Damon and Tors sat in silence, Damon’s mind searching frantically for a plan but coming up empty every time.

After what felt like a decade, the door to the cell creaked open and Sara was shoved in, collapsing to the ground as soon as she was past the threshold.

Damon and Tors rushed over to her as the door clanked shut and the policeman walked away, leaving them alone in the dingy cell.

“Are you alright? What did they ask you? What did you say?” Damon stumbled over each question, but Sara remained silent, staring up at the ceiling. Her face was pale and slack, and her eyelids were pulled shut by gravity She was still breathing, but her breaths were slow and seemed to take more effort than they should. She was mostly still, but her hands were shaking violently.

“She’s exhausted,” said Tors. “Her CFS. Battling the Ipotanes took it out of her.”

“Can you speak?” Damon took her silence as a ‘no’.”

“We need to get out of here,” said Tors. “She needs to rest.”

“How?” said Damon, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. “They took our weapons, our backpack, everything.”

“Not everything,” said Tors, taking off his shoe. Damon stared as he saw the metal bracelet, wrapped around Tors’ foot, glinting in what little light there was. “I hid it before they got to us.” He slid off the bracelet and returned it to his wrist.

“One weapon- will that be enough? They aren’t gonna be much help against the police’s guns.”

“Two weapons,” Tors corrected him, but Damon just looked at him, not understanding. “Check your pocket.”

Damon did so and was stunned to find his knife there, though he knew it’d been confiscated.

“Wh- how?”

“Some weapons are enchanted return to their sheath if lost. Ours are just standard swords from the armory, they aren’t special enough. But it looks like yours is.” Damon stared at the blade, wishing he could ask it all the questions that were still left unanswered.

“But that still won’t be enough to escape a police station. They still have guns, and we still can’t get out of the cell, and our swords don’t even affect mortals.”

“We won’t be using our weapons. Just… trust me?” Damon was nervous, given the danger they were in, but when he looked at Sara’s slack face he knew they had no choice.

“Ok.” Tors looked at him, half grateful, half understanding, before returning to his usual indecipherable stare.

“When one of us gets taken out for questioning, I’ll take on the policeman. Get Sara out, I’ll be right behind you. Just… don’t think too badly of me?”

“Why?” asked Damon nervously. “What are you gonna do?”

But before Tors could answer, footsteps began approaching their cell. Tors and Damon straightened up, ready to put their half-plan into action. When the policeman approached the door, they backed away, Tors staring intently at him.

“Who’s next for questioning?” he said, unlocking the door. Tors stepped forwards, and the policeman allowed it to swing open. There was a pause, as Damon waited for something to happen, for Tors to do… whatever it was.

But the silence continued, and Damon realized Tors had already started. He was staring at the policeman with a more intense stare than Damon had ever seen. Though he wasn’t the object of the gaze, just looking at those eyes made old and primal things stir in Damon’s head, made something sickening take root in his brain and begin to grow. Damon looked away, trying not to look at what was happening behind the policeman’s eyes. He picked up Sara in as gentle a way as he could manage, and pushed past the policeman, running as fast as he could with the added weight he was carrying.

Instantly, the air changed. The police station became loud and frantic, and Damon heard Tors footsteps behind him, as well as many others behind them, chasing them and shouting relentless warnings. Out of the corner of his eye, Damon saw grape vines sprout like weeds, creating tripwires and obstacles to slow their pursuers down. Damon’s muscles began to ache, but he pushed forwards, ignoring his stinging calves as he ran out of the police station, through the crowds of whoever-they-were with the police hot on their tail.

On the street outside, Damon saw Tors grow grapevines like a spider web, blocking off the door and giving them enough time to get a somewhat decent headstart. But the police had soon torn through the plants and were on their heels again. Carrying Sara, there was no way Damon could outrun them. He stopped, exhausted, and turned to face them. Tors saw him falter, and turned as well, standing between Damon and the police, who pointed various guns at them and began shouting warnings to lay on the ground with their hands on their heads.

“Close your eyes,” said Tors over his shoulder. Damon didn’t have time to question him, so simply did as he was told. He shifted Sara so he could cover her eyes, then closed his own and waited for whatever Tors was about to do.

Something very strange started ran through the air like blood through veins. Damon felt branches of cold energy snake over him like long, spindly fingers, and heard the New York City street grow quieter than he thought was possible.

The air seemed to turn rotten, like old and slimy soil, and shifted and swayed like a drunk person. It was impossible to describe- Damon just knew that it terrified him beyond what he could imagine. Over the eerie silence, the sound of distant flutes grew closer and closer until they seemed to come from the air itself, playing a mad and mindless melody like windsocks in a hurricane. Then the music was no longer music, and instead a suffocating gas that seeped into Damon’s lungs and pooled there like poison. Then the sound became solid, and Damon felt like he was going to choke on the demented harmonies that were replacing the air.

Suddenly, the blood-fingers retreated over his skin, the flutes faded, the city noise returned, and the air was no longer rotten and wrong.

“You can open your eyes.” Damon did so, and froze in shock when he saw the crowd of police, as well as any bystanders near them, stare at them with drool dripping from their mouths. Their eyes were as wide as Tors’, and some had even fallen to the ground, twitching in a way that was hard to watch.

“Let’s go,” said Tors. Damon didn’t argue and instead kept his mouth cemented shut, the image of the police playing on painful repeat inside his head like some kind of gif. Tors took half of Sara’s weight, and together they carried her as far away from the station as they could manage.

“We can’t keep going forever,” said Damon as they took a short rest. “Sara needs somewhere to rest.”

“I know,” said Tors, “but what I did to them… it’s only temporary. They could still be on our tail.”

“What, exactly, did you do to them?” Damon asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. Tors took a long and tentative pause before deciding to speak.

“Dionysus is a god of wine, but he’s a god of madness too. He can turn just about anyone insane. I learned the hard way that… so can I.”

Damon could tell how much those words hurt Tors and didn’t press any further.

“Let’s keep going, maybe we-”

“Wheelchair.” It was Sara, her voice a faint and strained croak. “37th street.” She fell silent again, and Tors and Damon looked at each other, then picked her up. 37th street was only a few blocks away, and they managed to get there without attracting too much attention.

“Maple,” whispered Sara as they reached the street, and she pointed weakly down it. Trusting her blindly, Tors and Damon stumbled down the street in the direction they had pointed. Most bystanders ignored them, though they occasionally got strange and suspicious looks. Damon heard sirens in the distance, and began pushing harder to… wherever they were going.

At last, aching with the effort, Damon saw what Sara was talking about. A large red sign reading “Big Maple Mobility” flashed across the street: a wheelchair store. Damon led the way inside, collapsing once past the door. Though it was difficult to see from the outside, the store was surprisingly large. Rows of wheelchairs framed the room, and warm honey-colored light gave them all matching shadows.

“Thanks, Sara.” Sara’s face didn’t move, but Damon knew she could hear him.

“We don’t have any money,” said Tors slowly, turning in a circle on the spot with his arm twisting in random spikes of movement.

“Are you ok?” Damon asked. Whatever Tors was doing with his arm didn’t look painless.

“I can’t control it,” he said, not answering Damon’s question. “We lost our backpack. How are we going to buy a wheelchair?”

“Everything alright?” The shop assistant approached them. She wore a loose black top that matched her hair, and her wheelchair looked like it was made of only the most golden fallen leaves. She had dark skin and darker eyes that surveyed them with an intelligent warmth.

“Uh…”

“I guess not,” she said, her smile faltering as she saw Sara collapsed on the ground. “Paralysis?”

“CFS.” She nodded in understanding, before gesturing to the array of wheelchairs on display. “Buy or rent?”

“Rent,” said Damon on the assumption that this would be cheaper. “Can… we pay on return?”

“Afraid not,” her brows creased in what looked like sadness. “We’re a small business, wheelchairs are expensive, we can’t take that kind of risk. Maybe I could call your parents? Or a taxi, if you-”

“Damon,” said Tors, his arm still twitching. He was staring out the window with a distinctly sharp expression. Damon followed his gaze, his gut twisting when he saw two police officers outside, talking to a couple of passers-by. One pointed to the store they were in, and Damon reflexively dragged Sara behind the nearest wheelchair, praying they hadn’t been seen. Then he saw the shop assistant, who now wore an unmistakably angry expression.

“They’re after you?” she said, her voice sharp. Damon remained silent, but he knew she could see the truth in his guilty face.

“Please, don’t-”

“There’s a back door.” Damon stared at her in shock. He could tell even Tors was surprised, his eyes being even wider than normal. “Don’t look at me like that. I have experience with the NYPD, I’m not turning anyone over to those brutes. Take a wheelchair and go. I’ll slow them down.”

“What? Why would you-”

“Does it surprise you that strangers can be kind? Just… bring it back when you can, alright? We can’t really afford to lose a chair.”

“Of course.” Damon pulled Sara onto the nearest chair and began wheeling her to the back of the store, with Tors hot on his heels. When they found a back door, Tors pushed it open and they escaped into a narrow alleyway just as they heard the front door open. Tors closed the door carefully, so as not to make a noise, and Damon caught the briefest glimpse of two bright uniforms towering over the shop assistant before his view was cut off and they were left alone in the alleyway.

“Why would she… she doesn’t even know us.”

“Keep moving,” said Tors, glancing over his shoulder. “How far till central park?”

“What? We can’t go to the Underworld while Sara’s like this!”

“No, but we need somewhere to rest. They can’t follow us through the Door of Orpheus, so we’ll rest there.

“Huh,” said Damon as they turned back onto the main street. “That’s pretty smart.”

“Are you surprised?” said Tors, his arm making a particularly violent twitch so that he punched himself in the leg. “Mad genius.”

“You don’t have to call yourself mad. You could just be a genius.”

“It’s not an insult,” said Tors honestly. “I’m mad. And clever. I’m both.” There was a moment of silence where Tors’ face suddenly crumpled. “That was narcissistic, wasn’t it?”

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.”

Tors flashed Damon a rare smile, who returned one, looking quickly away so that Tors wouldn’t see the blood rushing to his face.

“Let’s hurry,” he said. “The sooner we get to the Door, the better.”

* * *

Though it wasn’t a short walk to Central Park, it was so much easier now that Sara was in a wheelchair that it felt like no time at all. The aching in Damon’s back slowly faded as the scenery of Central Park surrounded them. As they walked, the distant music of the city became gradually fainter.

Suddenly, Tors stopped and Damon nearly wheeled Sara into him.

“It’s here,” said Tors. “I can feel it.”

“Are you sure?” Damon couldn’t feel anything, even when he followed his gaze to the patch of soil at which Tors was staring. “Chiron said it was in some rocks, not the ground.”

“This is it.” Tors sounded so certain that Damon trusted him. He let go of Sara’s chair and stepped back. Then, his stomach dropped in realization.

“The harp! It’s still in the backpack.” In an instant, tears stung Damon’s eyes. “The harp Charlie gave me- I left it in the backpack. Without it, we won’t be able to open the Door.”

Tors looked at him with his usual indecipherable expression. If he had to guess, Damon would say he was thinking.

“I can open it.”

“What? How? Without music…”

“Flutes,” he said simply. It took a moment for Damon to understand.

“Will that work?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Damon, realizing he didn’t, nodded at Tors, who turned his back to him and knelt on the grassy Earth. The sun was beginning to set behind him, turning him into an eerie red silhouette.

Then, the air changed again. Those same blood fingers ran over Damon’s skin, but this time they were different. They were still unsettling, but they were somehow also comforting. Damon felt as though a gentle hand was caressing him, but _underneath_ his skin.

In the distant, Damon heard flutes, but they were no longer wild and crazed. Instead, together they created a harmony that was just as primal as the melody before, but this time was achingly beautiful. Then, Tors began to sing. In a language that Damon couldn’t understand, and perhaps had no meaning at all, Tors’ voice soared through the air, so resonant and so powerful and so clear.

If Damon wished to wake a being as old as time from its slumber, this is the music he would play.

Suddenly, there was a deep and guttural rumbling. The ground in front of Tors began to twist and writhe like cerastes, before sinking into the ground to reveal a slope that descended into the darkness, further into the Earth than Damon could imagine.

Tors turned to look at Damon, and at once the music faded into nothing, leaving only an eerie silence.

“Well,” said Damon, shrugging at both Sara and Tors. “Here goes nothing.”

And together, they entered the earth, the ground sliding shut behind them with a noise that could only make Damon think that they had just been swallowed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long- college is a nightmare. This might have more spelling errors than usual but I figured I should just get it posted, otherwise I might put it off forever :).


	12. Finally, a Good Nights' Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Discussion of suicide.

Sleeping beneath the Door of Orpheus was perhaps the strangest thing Damon had ever experienced. He expected nightmares, terrors beyond imagining, but instead, his dreams were, well, _normal_ , except for being more vivid than Damon was used to. Beneath the Earth, they slept in total darkness, but for some reason, he didn’t feel afraid, even of the monsters he knew were waiting for them in the Underworld. Somehow, a strange sense of peace permeated his unconsciousness, though the dreams were coy and hard to remember.

When he woke, he felt strangely refreshed- more so than he had in a while.

“You slept for ages.” It was Sara, standing above him with a complicated, though still relieved expression. For some reason, blue-burning torches had lit the tunnel while they slept, so they were no longer in complete darkness and Damon was able to roughly make out his surroundings.

“How long? All night?”

“More than all night,” said Sara as Tors began to stir. “Long enough for me to feel better. No idea what the date is.”

“You mean we slept for days?”

“At least,” Sara shrugged, then looked at Damon seriously. “Thanks for getting me the chair. Sorry I put you through that.”

“Thanks for saving us from those Ipotanes. That was quick thinking with the plant thing. You saved us.” Sara looked away. It was too dark to be sure, but Damon thought she might be blushing.

“No, I don’t want to!” Tors was apparently still asleep, mumbling vague phrases of distress and shifting on the hard ground. Perhaps he was experiencing the nightmares Damon had expected. Sara shook him awake.

“Wh- bloody red nuggets? Bat hags!” Tors murmured as he returned to consciousness. Sara and Damon laughed as he rubbed his eyes clumsily and stared at them.

“Not much of a morning person?” said Sara, giggling. Tors swayed his head oddly and stood up, turning slowly on the spot. “We should get going. I’ve got energy at the moment- more than usual. If we want to get back out of the Underworld we should get going while it lasts.” Damon’s stomach dropped. This was his last and only chance to turn them back.

“Guys… about that.” Sara and Tors looked at him, both obviously concerned.

“You don’t want us to come,” said Tors simply. Sara’s eyes widened as she looked back and forth between Tors and Damon, who nodded.

“This quest… Nico said it was suicide. He was right. I don’t really expect to survive this. I’ve accepted it. But I can’t bring that fate on you. You should go back to Camp.”

“Don’t talk like that!” said Sara, distressed, but Tors kept looking unblinkingly at him without a shift in his expression.

“Make us,” he said at last. Damon blinked at him. “Go on, make us. Make us turn back.”

“I…” stumbled Damon, out of his depth. Whatever response he had anticipated, it wasn’t this.

“It’s not suicide,” said Sara vehemently.

“You don’t understand,” said Damon, shaking his head. He forced himself to speak, his gross and rotting brain emptying him of any hope he ever had of surviving this quest. “I don’t mean figuratively suicide, I mean _literally_ suicide. I don’t just mean it’s impossible, I mean I don’t _want_ to come back. Hades is after me, he’ll get me eventually. This is the only way I could make my death count. And,” he began to falter, “my dad…”

“Correction,” said Sara with an edge to her voice that Damon had never heard before. “It’s not suicide _anymore_. We’re coming with you, we’re going to the Underworld, and we coming back. Alive. And we’re going to get your dad back. Whatever you thought this quest was, it’s more than that now. Hades is weakening, the Mist is fading. We need you. And you need us. We’re coming with you.”

“You can’t stop us,” said Tors. “You don’t have powers, you’re not good enough with a sword. You literally can’t stop us.”

“But, I…” something raw and naked rose into Damon’s throat and, without warning, he began to bawl. He felt hands and arms around him, and sat, crying, for what felt like ages, held by the first friends he’d ever made that, for once, might not abandon him.

“Let’s go,” he said, standing and wiping his tears away. “Should we take the chair?”

“To the bottom of the slope,” said Sara. “In case we need it on the way up.” The other two agreed, and Damon took the chair and lead them down into the bowels of the Earth.

“So what happened while the police interrogated you? How did they deal with seeing real-life monsters?”

“It was weird,” said Sara, frowning. “My memory’s kinda fuzzy, but I know they asked me about horses. And the swords. Maybe it’s cause the Mist is fading; they saw through it, but not completely. I don’t think they really knew what they were seeing.”

“What do you think they’ll make of our backpack?” said Damon, a new worry churning his guts. “All that Nectar and Ambrosia. Have we exposed Camp Half-Blood to the NYPD?”

“I hope not,” said Sara, sounding as worried as Damon felt. “We’ll just have to pray the Mist is strong enough.”

“We’ve broken a lot of rules this quest,” said Tors. “We’re not supposed to hurt mortals.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” said Damon. Tors bit his lip slightly, a drop of blood appearing there, and Damon hastened to comfort him. “And you didn’t really hurt them, right? You just knocked them down for a few minutes while we escaped.”

“Oh, I hurt them,” said Tors. “I wouldn’t wish what I can do on anyone. Especially mortals. They were just doing their job.”

Sara remained very quiet, staring intently at the blue torches lining the tunnel and pretending not to hear them.

“What do you mean ‘you wouldn’t wish what you can do on anyone’?” Tors bit his lip again.

“It’s not nice being insane. It’s not fun. It’s painful. Just because I experience that pain, doesn’t give me the right to inflict it on other people.”

“You experience it?” Tors nodded, his eyes beginning to water.

“Every day. Every second. What those police officers felt and saw, it brought them to their knees. That’s what I always feel. And it’s terrifying.”

“I’m sorry,” said Damon. “I… think I know what that’s like.”

“No, you don’t,” said Tors, suddenly bitter. “You have no idea what it’s like.”

“I just mean,” said Damon, cursing his word choice. “I just mean, there’s stuff in my brain that scares me, too. I have… I don’t even know what to call them. Episodes? Where I just, like, tense up. I freeze. Sometimes I buckle over or shake or scream or-” Damon caught his breath, rushing through his description. He had never before told this to a living soul. “It’s an emotion, usually. I feel an emotion and then, it explodes. And I can’t control myself. And it hurts so much. And…” Damon trailed off, unable to explain his episodes properly. But perhaps it didn’t matter. Tors was staring at him with a new clarity and, perhaps, curiosity.

The trio fell into silence, and what felt like another hour passed before any of them spoke again.

“We’re getting close,” said Sara, nodding towards a dim grayish light at the end of the tunnel. Then she stopped. “We’ll need to get past Cerberus. Give me a second.” She looked at the earth in front of her, her face twisting into a frown with effort. After a few moments, a small tree sprouted, bearing a comically large red apple which she picked up. “Annabeth told me Cerberus likes playing ball.” Damon and Tors stared at her, and she shrugged at them.

“I guess he _is_ a dog,” said Damon.

“That was harder than normal though,” said Sara, frowning. “The deeper we go, the weaker I feel. Soon I might not be able to grow anything.”

“The Underworld isn’t the best place for plants,” said Tors. The three exchanged a grim look, before stepping out from the tunnel.

They emerged at the base of a cliff, the sound of the River Styx almost deafening them as it cascaded from the rocks to their left. To the right, huge, menacing black walls marked their destination: Hades’ kingdom. Over the crashing rapids of the Styx, a distant growling was still audible, echoing over the black beach.

Without speaking, Damon let go of the wheelchair and parked it at the base of the cliff. Then, he led the way across the beach, kicking various stray human bones out of his way as the growling grew louder and louder and…

In their preparation for the quest, Percy had described the entrance to the Underworld. But no description could prepare Damon for the strangely businesslike lines of dead souls, with metal detectors and ghoulish attendants swarming between them. Apparently, death was an efficient ordeal. The fastest line, under the title of ‘EZ DEATH’, shuffled along every few seconds, the souls passing underneath a strange, half-visible mass that shimmered in the air. When they approached it, Damon’s jaw dropped.

It was Cerberus: a huge, ghostly, almost invisible, three-headed Rottweiler. To him, an elephant would probably constitute a light snack. The growling came from the middle head, which stared at them, sniffing at the air.

“It knows we shouldn’t be here,” breathed Sara, her eyes almost as wide as Tors. She was frozen, her hands shaking. At the sound of her voice, the other two heads turned to them and bared their teeth, and the growling became darker and more vicious.

“Sara, the apple.”

“What? Oh, right,” she said, shaking herself. She raised the ridiculously large apple, though it looked tiny in comparison to Cerberus, above her head and spoke with a sharp and commanding tone. “Cerberus! You want the ball?”

The giant dog’s 6 eyes all widened slightly in surprise, then the left head’s tongue lolled out in a way that would have been friendly if it wasn’t framed by teeth that were quite so large and sharp.

“Ready, boy?” said Sara, doing an admirable job at hiding the tremble in her voice. “You want the ball? Catch!” She threw the apple, and the left head instantly snatched it out of the air. “Go, go, go,” she hissed at the other two, and they hurried into the EZ DEATH line, trying to look as dead as possible to blend in. As they passed beneath Cerberus’ mouths, they felt apple juice fall on them like rain as the three heads shredded the fruit as they fought over it. If Cerberus sat now, they would be crushed. Damon held his breath, and only released it when they were finally out from under the beast. The relief didn’t last long, however, because as soon as the trio passed through the metal detector, alarms began blaring through the chilling, causing a ringing in Damon’s ears.

“Unauthorized possessions! Magic detected!”

“Run!” Damon hissed, and together they sprinted under the EZ DEATH gate and into the underworld, while various ghouls flurried about trying to find them. As they hid behind a poplar tree, Damon caught his breath, wheezing at the black earth.

“We made it,” said Tors, staring at them with undeniable fear in his usually indecipherable face. “The Underworld. We’re here.”

* * *

 The Underworld was impossible. Nothing on Earth could ever be that vast and that quiet. Indescribably huge fields of half-visible ghosts drifted meaninglessly among each other, not even noticing the huge stalactites that had fallen from the stone ceiling and speared the ground among them.

“It’s… so big.” Damon knew the description was inadequate, but he simply didn’t have the vocabulary to describe its size. “I always wondered what death was like. I didn’t imagine…”

“Oh, this isn’t the Underworld,” said Sara. Damon had never heard her so bitter and so sad. “This is just one part of it.” Damon’s head began to spin, trying to comprehend the size of death. “Those are the Fields of Asphodel. The dead go to one of three places: Elysium, a paradise for heroes, for those who lived truly good lives; the Fields of Punishment, endless torture for the wicked and cruel; and the Fields of Asphodel. Most people don’t live good lives or bad. They just live. And then they die. And then they go to the Fields of Asphodel.”

“What’s it like?” asked Damon, not sure if he wanted to know. Sara’s voice was half angry, half broken and exhausted. The effort of running seemed to have taken something out of her, and she looked paler by the second, though perhaps that was just the effect of the Underworld on the living.

“It’s just… there. Imagine standing on a beach for all time, only there’s no sea, there’s no sound, there’s no weather, there’s no anything. You just stand. Most souls forget who they once were, they just drift around. One more citizen of the dead.” Damon realized that Sara was crying, and walked up to her. With nothing to say, he simply squeezed her hand, and she turned to stare at him with eyes that contained almost exactly what Damon felt those times he no longer believed life was worth living. Except behind those defeated eyes was the hint of spite, of bitterness, of defiance.

“That’s where I’m headed,” she said. “That’s where everyone like me goes when we die. The disabled. The weak. The world of heroes cares about one thing: glory. But, of course, my battles don’t count. My victories don’t count. There’s no glory in getting out of bed in the morning, no matter how much harder it is for me than most people could comprehend. The Underworld doesn’t care about my battles, it cares about battles that save the world. But most people don’t have the opportunity to fight. Because of their genes, or their parents, or their disability, they are removed from the equation. No one like me could ever make it to Elysium. That’s where great people go. Asphodel is where good people go.”

“It’s better than that,” said Tors, staring out across the expanse of the underworld to a distant mass of barbed wire and screams. Even at this distance, Damon saw more horrors than he’d ever care to remember. He didn’t have to hear the screams to know they were there.

“Is it?” said Sara with an edge to her voice, now turning to speak to Tors. “Those souls will always be human. Tortured and in agony, but always human. The souls in Asphodel just… stand there. They forget who they once were. Eventually, they are no longer human. We call them souls, but they’re not even that anymore, are they?”

“I am unconvinced,” said Tors. Even from behind, Damon saw Sara’s eyes flare.

“Imagine being locked in a cage. It is completely empty, completely blank, except for a button. There are no windows, there is no door, no bed, no color. There is only a button. When you press the button, it gives you a painful electric shock. You are locked in here for all eternity.” Sara stood straighter, her voice becoming sharper.

“Do you press the button?”

Both Tors and Damon stood in silence for a moment, imagining the scenario. _Of course I wouldn’t press it_ , thought Damon. _Who would choose to cause themself pain?_ But then he realized the heart of Sara’s scenario. He was locked in this cage forever. Days, weeks, months, each passing while he was unavoidably conscious. Eventually, he knew, he would cave in.

“Yes,” he said Sara stared at him, and Damon was shocked to see just how empty she looked. He could hardly believe those eyes belonged to that same, impossibly smiley girl who had shown him around Camp Half-Blood.

“So you choose pain over boredom.”

Tors looked different, with an expression Damon had never seen him wear before. Sara blinked, then shook herself, wiping away the tears pooling in her eyes.

“Sorry. I just, I think about this a lot. You two probably have Elysium to look forward to, but me? I was born unlucky. I'll never get the chance to…” she trailed off.

“Let’s go,” said Damon, leading them over the fields of the dead towards the menacing black palace that could only belong to the Lord of the Dead.

It was a long walk, occasionally punctuated by the occasional dead soul walking up to them and babbling away with indistinct noises. When they realized they couldn’t understand them, it walked away, somehow even sadder and more dismal than before. As he looked around, Damon couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of peace, knowing that he would end up here eventually.

“It’s beautiful,” said Damon, the words slipping out of his lips before he could stop them. The other two, who both looked pale and unnaturally scared, blinked at him in shock. Sara even looked hurt by his words.

“What? Don’t be stupid. It’s horrific, all this death…”

Unsure what to say, Damon was thankful that at that moment they arrived at a suitable distraction: the Garden of Persephone.

It was impossibly strange, with gemstones growing instead of blossoms, and stone statues that were a little realistic to be pretty. Without thinking, Damon found himself walking up to a large, ruby-red pomegranate, it’s tart smell impossible to resist. He reached out, almost touching it when Tors slapped his hand away.

“If you eat that, you’ll stay here forever.” Damon shook himself, and allowed Sara and Tors to pull him away towards the black palace of Hades.

Eventually, they arrived outside the huge black-bronze walls, all three of them staring up at it in awe. Above the entrance, a distant figure swooped around like a demented bat, before hurtling towards them like a meteor. Damon and Sara both dived out of the way, eventually looking up to see a tall, leathery creature with yellow fangs and a deadly whip bear down on them.

“You have made things convenient for me, godling.” She spoke directly to Damon, still sprawled on the ground. Ignoring Sara, she approached him, cracking her whip and causing fire to run along it. “Walking so calmly to your death, I could almost call you brave.” Damon reached for his dagger, but knew it would be useless against the range of a whip. He tried to scramble backward, but the fury closed on him with ease.

“Stop.” Tors, standing between them, was staring unflinchingly at the fury. Damon opened his mouth to warn him, but stopped when he saw something familiar happen behind those menacing glowing eyes. Like the policeman, and Tom before him, Tors fixed the fury with a stare that seemed to plant something old and rotting in her mind. She stood, frozen, allowing Damon to scramble to his feet and wonder just how powerful a demigod Tors was. If he could overpower a fury, what else was he capable of?

“We’re here to see the Lord of the Dead,” said Tors, impressively calmly given how scared he looked. “Do you expect us to survive?”

“No,” growled the fury, betraying something in her voice that was much scarier than anger: fear.

“Then you needn’t kill us yourself.”

The fury’s eyes returned to normal. She stood still for a second, off balance, before smiling, baring yellow fangs at them and folding her leathery wings.

“An unfortunate choice, demigods. I would have been much kinder in killing you than Lord Hades. But I supposed I can grant a final request.”

She turned and began leading them into the palace, and the trio followed, both Sara and Damon staring Tors.

“What the… how? That was Alecto!” Sara gaped at Tors, looking just as stunned as Damon felt. Tors simply shrugged.

“Anything with a mind can go mad,” he said simply. “I don’t want to risk trying it on Hades, though. A fury I can handle, but a god is out of my league.”

“Still,” said Damon, “you can fight off a fury without breaking a sweat. That’s impressive.” The three of them smiled at each other, but Damon saw the others’ smiles and felt his own melt away as they entered Hades’ chamber. Alecto turned and grinned wickedly at them, before flying over their heads and leaving them alone with the Lord of the Dead.

Damon looked up at the giant throne before them and felt his blood freeze at the sight of the god that sat there.

Dionysus may have been a god, but Hades was something else. He must have been 11 feet tall at least, with ghostly white skin and starkly black hair. Looking at him made Damon feel a kind of fear he didn’t know was possible. A fatigue crept over him, different to any fatigue he’d ever felt, and knew that it wasn’t sleep that his body seemed to crave. Hades’ eyes were closed, and Damon didn’t want to imagine what might happen to him if he opened them.

Swallowing his terror, he knelt, hearing Tors and Sara do the same. When he stood up, he looked directly at Hades and tried to stop his hands shaking.

“Lord Hades,” he said, trying to stop his voice from shaking. “We have come on behalf of Camp Half-Blood and your son, Nico di Angelo, to-”

“Do you not consider my son to be of Camp Half-Blood?” His voice was greasy and cruel and seemed to travel through Damon’s bones. “Or, perhaps, do you think I might spare you, that you come in his name?”

“L- Lord Hades,” said Damon, begging himself not to cry. “We have come on the knowledge that you are…”

“Go on,” said Hades, dangerously. “I am what?” Damon swallowed hard. The next word came out far quieter than he meant it.

“...weakening,” he finished. At this, Hades gave a smile that could not have been less happy. It was rage and death, sealed behind curled lips.

“And I thought Perseus was insolent.”

“Your son Nico said-”

“Did he? Perhaps you did not have an adequate view of my kingdom on your journey here. Do I appear weak to you?”

“No, Lord Hades, but-”

“You are not weak,” said Tors blankly. Though Tors’ strangeness was often endearing to Damon, just this once, he wished he would keep his mouth shut. Hades, however, did not react with the wrath Damon expected.

“No?” Hades was curious, though the venom in his voice was still there.

“Yet you are weakening. You wish Damon dead, and yet he lives. Why?” Hades smiled, apparently amused.

“Dionysus, the god of wine and madness. It seems you lost the coin toss, Mentor. Indeed, Damon lives. And yet I find him at my feet, in my palace, at my mercy.” Tors’ strange courage inspired something in Damon, too.

“And my father?” Hades turned back to him, his expression darkening once more.

“Alive. You would not have come here otherwise.”

“Dad!” Damon cursed himself for speaking, but the news of his father was too much to contain. Hades smiled again.

“What is it you want, demigods?”

“Why are you weakening?” said Tors, still blunt and simple. “Why have you not killed Damon?” Hades paused, before apparently deciding that telling them would not hurt, given how soon he intended to kill them.

“Do not presume that I cannot,” he said icily. “I still have more power than you could imagine.”

“Thus on what do you spend it?” Hades looked surprised. Damon, too, found the wit of Tors’ questions unexpected.

“A god of the dead has duties. You should be grateful, demigods. Should I relinquish my energies, death would cease, souls would leak into your world. The apocalypse, mortals might call it. Even the furies must remain here, to aid me with my bureaucracy. I could have sent half my kingdom after you, Damon, but instead, I choose to maintain the balance of the world. And still you resent me?”

“You took my father,” said Damon, an ill-advised rage boiling inside him, giving him something that was half bravery and half idiocy. “I want to make a deal.”

“I see,” said Hades, and Damon felt the air around him suddenly become even colder.

“In exchange for restoring your power, you will spare me and my father.”

“Oh, I will?”

“If you want your power back, it’s your only option.”

“Damon…” Sara whispered in his ear, trying to restrain him from outright insulting the god of the dead, but for once Damon didn’t listen to caution. Hades paused for a moment, before smiling wickedly.

“One. I will spare one soul in exchange. You, or your father. Choose.”

Perhaps this is what Damon should’ve expected. Cruelty, disguised as generosity. Hades knew that this choice was just as painful as any torture in the fields of punishment, and reveled in it.

“My father,” said Damon at last. He heard Sara and Tors shift beside him.

“Damon, no-” began Sara, but Damon cut him off.

“I told you: suicide.”

“But-”

“It’s my choice,” said Damon, pushing down the urge to cry and staring resolutely up at Hades, who was still smiling. “I choose my father.”

“How predictable. You forget, demigod, that you will both belong to me in the end.”

“Swear it,” said Damon desperately. “Swear it on the river Styx, that you will spare my father and return him home when we have restored your power.”

“I swear it on the river Styx,” said Hades, his skin seeming to become momentarily paler as he said it. Damon nodded, knowing he had just sealed his fate. Hades looked satisfied, and leaned back on his throne.

“So,” said Damon, licking his dry lips. “How do we restore your power?”

At his words, Hades laughed and Damon felt blood rush to his cheeks. The laughter was cold and senseless and echoed around the palace. As it did, it seemed to morph into the sound of screams, though perhaps that was simply the sound of the Fields of Punishment in the distance.

“You have the gall to bargain with me before you even know what you intend to do?” Hades calmed his laughter, looking back down at Damon through his closed lids. “I take it you at least know of the Mist?”

“We know it’s fading,” said Sara, speaking to Hades for the first time. For some reason, Hades’ presence seemed to have more of an effect on her than the other two. Perhaps, because Demeter was a goddess of life, she was more vulnerable to his power than they were.

“No,” said Tors, and Damon could practically hear his mind working away. “Not fading, weakening. Does that mean it’s related to the weakening of your power?” As Tors spoke, something seemed to glow with a gentle heat along the back of Damon’s leg.

“Clever, nephew,” said Hades icily. “Indeed. Hecate, goddess of the Mist, had been captured. Find her, and she will be able to restore my power. At least, for now.”

“What do you mean, ‘for now’? And how can a goddess be captured? And where are we supposed to look?” asked Damon. Hades stared at him dangerously. “Lord Hades,” he added quickly. The warmth on Damon’s leg was slowly intensifying, becoming somewhat distracting, but Damon fought to ignore it.

“I have told you enough. In kindness, I will allow you to leave my kingdom. However, my kindness is limited.” Hades smiled again, directly at Damon. “I am sure your friends will be able to complete the quest without you.”

On instinct, Sara and Tors stood defensively around Damon.

“Alecto!” The fury swooped back into sight, circling above them like a vulture. Tors tossed his bracelet to Sara, who caught it and let it grow into a long bronze sword. They could perhaps handle a fury, but they were in Hades’ domain. They could not hold him off forever.

Now the strange heat was beginning to burn him. Damon winced in the pain and, reflexively, let his hand dart to his back pocket. As Alecto dived towards him with dripping yellow fangs, he grabbed his dagger and drew it, seeing the blade glow red with heat as if it had just been forged. Perhaps it was enchanted, after all. But before he could use it to defend himself, the blue fabric wrapped around the handle twisted of its own accord, and snaked into the air like a long, wide ribbon. Then, without warning, it wrapped itself tightly around Damon’s forearm like a bandage. As Alecto reached him he closed his eyes in fear. But even through his eyelids, he saw the blade flash red light, almost blinding him.

All at once, the screams and the echoes and the aura of death disappeared, and Damon felt himself hurtling into a suffocating darkness, falling through a long, black tunnel that might have no end at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, Hades' character was really tricky to get right (tbh, all the gods are). I hope I did it justice to some degree :). (Feel free to point out any typos so i can correct them- I've done my best but I'm still so fjdfjking busy)


	13. The Kind of Thing that Happens at 3 am in a Denny's

When the sickening hurtling motion stopped, Damon stood very still for a few moments, fighting the urge to vomit and trying to understand what had just happened. Suddenly, the noise of the city returned and Damon forced his eyes open to be met with the sight of a busy nighttime New York street and a lot of very confused pedestrians staring at him. Damon realized that from their perspective he had just appeared out of nowhere, and hastened to think of a reasonable explanation.

But before he could make a move, one of them walked forward and grabbed his hand (the one not holding the dagger), pulled his arm above his head and then bowed, dragging Damon down with her. At this, the surrounded pedestrians began applauding, and he realized that this stranger was passing him off as a street performer.

“Who are-” he began, but the girl began walked briskly into the crowd, dragging Damon along behind her. They wound through street after street until they found a deserted alley, where they entered and the girl released Damon’s wrist. Standing up and massaging where her grip had cut off his blood circulation, Damon was finally able to get a good look at her.

Even in the dingy light of the streetlamp, she was undeniably beautiful. Around Damon’s own age, she had shiny black hair and warm brown eyes that looked like they held more secrets than he could count. She wore a gentle blue summer dress that contrasted with the heavy backpack she was carrying. When she spoke, her voice was clear and reminded Damon of the sound of forest birds during the dawn chorus.

“Demigod?” Damon nodded, at last understanding why she had helped him.

“You too?” The girl nodded as well. “I didn’t see you around camp.”

“Different camps,” she said. “I’m from Camp Jupiter.”

“Jupiter… the Roman god?”

“Yep. The gods have two aspects. You’re from the Greek side, I’m guessing?” Damon nodded. “I’m a Daughter of Ceres,” she said. If Damon was shaky on Greek mythology, Roman mythology completely evaded him. Seeing his confusion, the girl clarified. “Goddess of agriculture, but you know her as Demeter.”

“Right, sorry. I’m Damon by the way.”

“Maylis. But May works.”

“Why are you out here?”

“Same reason as you, I expect,” she said. “The Mist, right?”

“More or less,” he said, shrugging. But, as his shoulders were on the way down, he froze, his stomach dropping with sickening speed. “They’re still there!”

“What? Who?

“Sara and Tors, they’re still in the Underworld!”

“What?! Why are they in the Underworld?”

“It was part of our quest. Hades is weakening so we went down to talk to him. I got out, but…”

“How’d you get out?” she said, looking at him. In response, Damon held up his dagger. 

“This, I think. It just… got really hot, and there was this flash of red light, and the blue cloth wrapped itself around my arm,” he showed her the binding, tugging at it until it came loose and wrapping it back around the handle. “And then, well, I’m not sure, to be honest. I just opened my eyes and I was on that street and you grabbed me and…”

He trailed off, staring at the dagger with even more questions than before. What  _ was _ this thing? He looked up at May and saw her looking strangely relieved. 

“Do you know where your friends are? Maybe we can contact them.” Damon shook his head resolutely.

“No idea. Even if they made it out of the Underworld, they could be anywhere in New York City.”

“Well,” she said, “no use staying here.”

Damon followed her out of the alley, stumbling over himself to keep up with her brisk pace.

“That was quick thinking with the street performer thing,” he said, trying to relieve the silence between them. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” said May, though as she said it her eyes seemed to flicker in a momentary sadness, something like guilt befalling her features. In an instant, however, she turned to smile at him, as if trying to hide a temporarily dropped facade. “So, uh… how come your mom hasn’t claimed you? I thought all Greek heroes got claimed nowadays.”

“I dunno,” said Damon, embarrassed. “Guess I’m an exception.” He tried to smile at her, but something about her words struck him as distinctly odd. “Wait… how’d you know about that? I never told you I wasn’t claimed.”

“Oh… Roman heroes are better at telling that kind of stuff,” she said, airily. “We’re a much more, uh, disciplined society,” she looked unsure. “Not to insult your camp,” she added quickly, as if Damon would be offended.

“Can you tell who my mother is?” asked Damon, eagerly, but May shook her head.

“Sorry, I…” she trailed off, apparently deciding not to say what was next. Damon was curious, but before he could press her, another question popped into his head.

“What date is it?”

“What?”

“The date. On the way down, we slept beneath the Door of Orpheus, but I don’t know how long for.”

“July 22nd. Well, 23rd technically, since it’s past midnight-”

“The 23rd?!” said Damon in shock. “But that’s…” he began doing the necessary calculations in his head. “We reached the Door on the 16th. Do you mean we slept for 8 days?!” May didn’t look at him, and she sped up, making it impossible for Damon to read her expression. 

“I guess so. The Underworld can do weird shit to your brain.”

“Did anything happen while we were down there?”

“There was an incident with the Chimera the other day, back in California. The Mortals around saw almost completely through the Mist, but we managed to pass it off as a hoax.”

“How much do they know?”

“The Mortals? More than they should. That’s why I’m here- traveled all the way from California to where the Mist was strongest. That’s where we’ll find Hecate.”

“You know about Hecate?” May nodded, still not meeting Damon’s gaze. “So where is she?”

“A small forest, over in New Jersey.”

“New Jersey? Didn’t you say you came from California? What are you doing in NYC?”

“I was sidetracked,” she said, evasively. “Look,” she said before Damon could speak, pointing to a nearby Denny’s. “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” said Damon, suddenly realizing that he hadn’t eaten in over a week, and he followed her into the dimly lit building, dotted with various customers, where he collapsed into the nearest booth.

Then, Damon inhaled 8 days worth of food in under 20 minutes. With each new order of pancakes, the servers looked more and more concerned for him, and Damon saw them sigh in relief when he declined to order any more. Feeling full and slightly sick, he sunk deeper into his seat.

“Wow, you  _ were _ hungry,” said May. Damon smiled at her, and she smiled back, though hers was somewhat sad, as if it had been plastered over her face in an effort to hide something. 

“So how come you’re alone?” asked Damon, able to make conversation now that he’d satisfied his hunger. 

“What do you mean?”

“Did Camp Jupiter really send you on a quest all on your own?”

“I, uh…” instead of replying, May stood up suddenly, her eyes wider than normal. “I gotta go,” she said quickly, and before Damon could say anything, she had darted to the girls’ bathroom, the door swinging shut behind her.

Then, the atmosphere changed. Around him, the exhausted servers began walking much faster, and the other customers started devouring their food as if their lives depended on it. For some reason, Damon felt as though he was running, inexorably, out of time, A sense of urgency gripped his gut as if his future was slipping through his fingers like sand. When he heard the door open, Damon looked up to see a woman step through it.

She looked impossibly old. Her skin was so wrinkled she could probably have kept her possessions in the folds of her skin, and her silver hair was pulled back into a bandana. She wore a light cotton dress and a pale blue handbag over her shoulder; Damon saw something glint inside it, though he couldn’t quite see what it was.

Without a word, she sidled over and sat across from Damon in the booth. She flicked her bony wrist, and at once the nearest server scrambled to clear the pile of dirty plates from the table. Though she didn’t seem malicious, for some reason Damon feared her more than he had feared Hades.

“Hello, hero.” Her voice was ancient, and its croakiness reminded Damon of the sound it made when you rewound an old clock.

“You know who I am?” Damon made to reach for his knife, but for some reason, his arm refused to move.

“You needn’t fear me,” said the woman. “Not yet, at least.”

“Who are you?”

“Atropos.” Damon looked at her blankly. “Not surprising, really. Most don’t know me outside the context of my sisters.”

“You’re…” something in Damon’s brain clicked, and he remembered something he wasn’t sure he ever even knew. “You’re one of the Fates.”

Atropos smiled slightly, her eyes appearing to flash what might have been a time-lapse video of the entirety of human history. Damon saw death and loss and the birth and fall of nations, and he heard the woman give a light chuckle. As the images faded, Damon felt his fists clench. 

“Which one are you?”

“The middle one. I cut the thread.”

“So you’re death.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said sharply. “I’m no Hades, nor am I Thanatos. Death doesn’t kill people; I do.” She gave another amused cackle, and Damon clenched his fists tighter. Before him sat the woman responsible for every death since the beginning of time, and she had the gall to laugh.

“What do you want?”

“Your help.”

“My…” said Damon, taken aback. “How could I help a Fate. And why should I?”

“I’d advise you against refusing fate,” she said wryly. “It has a strange way of backfiring.”

“I’m not scared of you,” said Damon, only half lying. “And I’m not helping you. You’ve killed too many people. I don’t care if it backfires- things can’t really get much worse for me.”

“Is that a challenge?” she said, raising her eyebrows. Again, Damon tried to reach for his dagger, but his arm still would not move. Seeing his arm strain, Atropos fixed him with a sharp stare. “Don’t tempt fate, for I am easily tempted.” 

Damon glared at her.

“Besides, I am fair.”

“Fate is never fair.”

“Perhaps not fair, but I am kind, occasionally, and this is such an occasion. It pays to have destiny owe you a favor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… you want to find your friends, don’t you? Perhaps, if you help me, fate just might have it that they chance on this very establishment.”

Damon felt his fist clench tighter. This was his only option to find Sara and Tors; he had no choice, and Atropos knew it.

“Fine,” he said. “What do you want?”

“You are destined to kill many times, Damon Asher Courtes. Most heroes are. But of those deaths, three are unique in importance.”

As she spoke, she reached into her handbag, pulling from it three lengths of electric blue yarn, though they remained rooted inside the bag like tongues so that Damon did not see their other end, if they even had one.

“Those are the three deaths,” Damon guessed, and Atropos nodded. “So what do you want me to do?”

In response, Atropos simply reached back into her bag and withdrew a pair of gold and silver scissors, comparable in size to garden shears, and offered them to Damon.

“You want…” he said, his mouth suddenly very dry. “You want me too…”

“You should be honored. Few people have touched my scissors.”

“You mean, there have been other people who’ve cut the yarn?”

“Maybe,” Atropos sighed. “At my age, you tend to forget who you’ve killed.” Damon stared at her and tried to slide out of the booth, though he found himself against some invisible wall.

“Why me? You’re the one who cuts the strings.”

“Fate is designed to understand, not to be understood. Least of all by heroes like yourself.”

“But-”

“Take them,” she said sharply. Damon did so, and as he touched the handle he felt the scissors’ power run through his fingers like an electric shock. He now held the power of fate, of death itself, and it opened a door in Damon’s brain through which he dared not look. He didn't want to imagine what was behind that door might do to his brain.

“Three strings,” said Damon, trying not to sound as scared as he was of the thing he was holding. “That means fate owes me three favors, not one.”

“You would bargain with fate?”

“Yes,” he said, wanting to drop the scissors, but forcing his fingers to fasten around them.

“Very well,” said Atropos. “A favor for each string. But do not think fate pays its debts in the ways you expect.” She held out the first string, and Damon stared at it, seeing more there than a simple length of yarn; he saw a life, delicate and impossible, and finally realized what he was about to do, and that he had no choice.

“Where do I cut?”

“Where you choose.”

“But… doesn’t your sister measure out the string?”

“Ordinarily, yes. But these circumstances are not ordinary. Cut.”

Damon licked his dry lips, and opened the scissors, positioning them over the string. Then, he closed his eyes and forced the scissors shut.

The quiet ‘snip’ that resulted seemed to make his bones vibrate. An indescribable force shot through his body, running through his blood like electricity. It felt less like he’d cut the string, and more like he’d cut the fabric of space it occupied. Damon opened his eyes, seeing Atropos return the yarn to her bag.

“That belonged,” said Atropos, “to a mortal foe.”

Well, at least he was destined to kill his mortal foe

Atropos then held out the second string, and Damon repositioned the scissors. This time, he kept his eyes open, seeing the blade surround the yarn. When he shut the scissors, he saw it fall limp in Atropos’ hands, a sight which didn’t begin to match the sensation of incalculable power that ran through his body for the second time, even more intense than before.

“That belonged,” said Atropos before he could ask, “to a dear friend.”

At this, Damon’s stomach dropped. Killing wasn’t appealing at the best of times, but killing a friend was one of the worst things he could imagine. He steadied himself, while Atropos returned the yarn to her bag and held out the third and final string.

Once more, Damon raised the scissors and shut them around the string. Once more, an electric force ran through his blood, this time more powerful than ever before, almost making Damon double over in pain. Once more, the string fell limp in Atropos’ hands.

In silence, Atropos reached out and took back the scissors, leaving Damon reeling, as though he’d been carrying the weight of the sky, and it had finally been lifted. As she returned the yarn and scissors to her bag, Damon prompted her.

“Who did that one belong to?” This time, Atropos looked up at Damon and smiled, not kindly, but not exactly unkindly either. Between her lips, Damon saw ancient, misshapen teeth, and behind them an empty black void. 

“Me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually written a head pretty far (up to Chapter 19) so I'll be able to release the next few chapters in fairly quick succession :D.


	14. The Dangers of Wrinkly Old Women and Terrible One-Liners

“Kid, dinner’s ready.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? Have you forgotten it’s pizza night?”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

Damon heard footsteps behind his bedroom door and turned to face the wall. Even when his father knocked, he remained resolutely silent.

“Everything ok in there, bud?” When Damon didn’t reply, he knocked again. “Can I… come in?”

“Fine,” said Damon emptily, staring emptily at the wall. He heard the door open and soon felt his father’s weight on the bed beside him. Instead of looking round, he surveyed the various dilapidated posters on his lupin blue wall.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” said his dad gently, “but I’m here if you want to.” There was another silence, in which Damon toyed with the idea. He decided against speaking, but when his father rose to go, he couldn’t help the words from tumbling out.

“Have you ever had to make a choice?”

“What kind of choice?” said his dad, sitting back on the bed.

“A difficult choice. A choice between someone you love and… yourself.”

“Why do you ask?” Damon felt a hand touch his shoulder gently.

“Because how do you know which choice is right?” Damon’s dad paused for a while before speaking again, his soft and chocolatey voice very nearly touching the emptiness inside Damon.

“I’ve never had to make a choice like that,” he said, “but I’ve made my fair share of difficult choices. Life is hard, and sometimes you’re faced with choices you don’t want. I won’t pretend it’s easy, or fair. But it’s always up to you.”

“But what if I made the wrong choice?!” said Damon, tears stinging his eyes. He turned to his father, and the pained, caring expression in those deep brown eyes, so much like his own, made him ache. He could see his reflection in those eyes, right down to his dark hair. Unlike their eyes, they were opposites in hair color. His father's, though naturally blonde, was dyed a deep, saturated blue, just like when Damon had last seen him. It was short, and spiked up in odd places like cowlicks.

“You’d never have wanted me to choose your life over mine. You’d tell me to save myself in a heartbeat. I didn’t even think about it, about who I was leaving behind. You and Mom… but I, I can hardly keep going as it is, let alone in a world without you.”

Somehow, his dad’s eyes filled up with even more sadness than before.

“Sometimes that’s love. It makes you as stupid as it makes you smart, as cruel as it makes you kind. If you are to die, I want you to die knowing that I love you, and I always, _always_ will.”

“I…” Damon began to cry. He collapsed forwards into his dad’s arms and, for a moment, they held each other in an embrace that made everything just briefly alright. “Will mom be ok?” he asked, speaking into his dad’s shoulder.

“Of course she will, she’s one tough cookie. Don’t forget she works in retail.” Damon gave a weak chuckle. “You do know she loves you.”

“When I’m gone, tell her I love her too.”

“I will.”

When Damon drew back, wiping his eyes, and looked up at his father. The emptiness inside him had filled somewhat. With sadness and pain, perhaps, but at least it had filled with something.

But when he looked up, his father wasn’t there.

He had been replaced with a woman who had hair blacker than pitch and wore a toxic gray dress. Her eyeliner was wickedly perfect and sharp, and it matched her equally black eyes that bore into Damon with the wrath of a nuclear bomb. She was utterly, unutterably terrifying. Damon felt himself fall backward, saw his bedroom fade away into nothingness while the woman pursued him.

“YOU ARE A MOCKERY OF MY KINGDOM!” she screeched, an acidic sound that made Damon’s ears pop. “FEAR ME, ARTIFACT.”

Damon stumbled backward through the nothingness, struggling to find anything solid until his foot connected with what felt like solid ground. Unable to curb his momentum, he fell backward into the leather seat of a diner booth and jerked awake, breathing heavily and feeling his heart pump faster than he could ever remember.

“8 days of sleep not enough for you?” Damon stared at May, the fog in his brain slowly clearing. “Everything alright…?” she said, frowning as she noticed his frantic breathing.

“Yeah, just… bad dream.,” said Damon with a wave of relief, calming his pulse back to normal speed. It had been a dream. Of course it had. No way would one of the Fates lend him her scissors and offer 3 favors in return. That would be ridicu-

“DAMON!”

Damon’s heart lifted when he saw Sara and Tors standing in the doorway, though his stomach dropped when he realized what it meant: the encounter with Atropos had been real. How else would they have found each other? The odds were vanishingly small. Still, at least he had 2 favors left, whatever that meant. Damon doubted he could walk up to them in the middle of a gossip session and ask for a lift home.

Sara ran over to him, diving into the booth and hugging him tightly. Tors stood awkwardly behind her, though the eye contact he made meant just as much as Sara’s hug. For a few seconds, Damon let the relief of seeing them alive wash over him.

“We thought you died! What the hell happened, how’d you escape?!” Sara released him, staring at him in awe.

“This,” said Damon, smiling weakly at her as he showed her his dagger. “I guess it was enchanted, after all.”

“Must be a powerful enchantment,” said Sara, staring at it. “If it could let you escape the Underworld. Only a god could make something like that.”

“What about you? How come you escaped?”

“Hades let us go,” said Sara. “Said he was a god of his word. He probably knew he needed someone to restore his power.”

“Huh,” said Damon, surprised that the Lord of the Dead would be so fair.

As Damon returned the knife to his pocket, May shifted a little, causing Sara and Tors to notice her for the first time.

“Oh, uh, this is May,” said Damon quickly. “She’s on a quest from Camp Jupiter.”

“Daughter of Demeter- I mean, Ceres,” she said, nodding at them. Her words caused Sara to light up.

“We’re sisters!” she said, causing May to flash her a wry smile.

“May, this is Sara, daughter of Demeter, and Tors, son of Dionysus.”

“Nice to meet you,” said May, only a little awkwardly.

“I can’t believe how lucky we got,” said Sara, “what are the odds we’d just happen to enter the same Denny’s?”

“Yeah,” said Damon, trying to sound genuine. “I guess fate’s just on our side today.” The others looked at him curiously, and he hastened to change the subject.

“So, uh, May knows where Hecate is,” said Damon, and Sara smiled even wider. She seemed even happier than when Damon had first met her, perhaps because she was so relieved to be out of the Underworld.

“Where?”

“A forest, over in New Jersey. I can take you there.”

“Then let’s go!” said Sara standing up, though she swayed dangerously before sitting quickly back down.

“Actually, maybe we could eat first?”

* * *

A 3am train journey is a unique experience- a dark, silent, sleepy tunnel that sped you over the terrain while the people around you fight to stay awake. Somehow, the sheer mountain of pancakes Damon, Sara, and Tors had eaten hadn’t cost the entirety of May’s money, and she still had enough to pay for a train to New Jersey. Given how early it was, it was impossible to see any scenery outside the black windows, and the only sound was the background white noise of the train. Everyone else on the train was in a half-asleep stupor, but Damon buzzed with anticipation. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about how the closer they got to saving his father, the closer they got to his death. Though he’d made his choice, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was the wrong one.

“We kinda stick out, don’t we?” said Sara, staring around. She was right- the four disheveled teenagers were definitely the oddballs, seeing as the other passengers consisted almost entirely of cleanly-dressed, exhausted looking young adults, probably on their way to work, all with the signature millennial look of hope drained from their eyes by a world designed to disadvantage them at every turn. The only exception was a group of six old women, all with upturned, piggish noses and bulging frog eyes, some knitting various shapeless woolen objects with comically over-large needles. For a moment, Damon worried they might be the Furies, but he remembered there only three of them. These old women didn’t look friendly, but they didn’t look threatening. They looked like they were on the way to a high-stakes bingo tournament.

“It’s 3am,” said May. “No one’s awake enough to care.”

“What time do we arrive in New Jersey?” said Tors, staring at the black windows.

“Soon,” said May, checking her watch. “Another twenty minutes or so. Why?”

“I don’t… feel so good.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Damon.

“Nothing, just- AGH!” Tors fell from his chair, kneeling on the ground and breathing heavily.

“Tors?”

“Madness,” he said, his voice very obviously in pain. “Sometimes it gets… bad.”

“What do we do?”

“Just let it pass, and…” Tors’ body clenched in momentary pain. “...tell me if that monster is real,” he said, pointing over to the nearest businessman, who had headphones in and was completely oblivious of the situation.

“What monster?” asked Sara, slightly frantic.

“Hallucinations,” said Tors through gritted teeth. “It’s harder to disregard them when you know monsters are real. Help me back up?”

Damon crouched beside him and helped pull him back onto his seat. He was shaking violently, and every now and against part of his body would jerk randomly and painfully. Damon had never seen him like this, and only now did he even begin to understand what Tors meant by ‘madness’. He touched Tors’ shaking arm and, when he didn’t recoil, gripped it.

“It’s ok,” he said. “No monsters here.”

“And them?” said Tors, pointing to the old women, which caused them to stare at him and mutter among themselves.

“Just old women,” said Damon “Harmless.” At his words, the gaggle of women looked deeply offended and stood up in order to move to another part of the train- somewhere further away from Damon. “What do you see?”

“Other than the monsters? Bugs everywhere. Footlong cockroaches crawling in your hair.”

“Not real. No bugs. You’re ok.”

“Damon,” said Sara from behind him. Damon ignored her, focusing on trying to help Tors as much as he could.

“Anything else?”

“The old women…”

“Just women,” said Damon again, not looking round. “It’s ok-”

“Damon!” said Sara gain.

“What?” snapped Damon, looking at her to see her pointing down the train. He looked and saw three of the women standing still, staring at them. Almost as if they were blocking off an escape route. Damon looked the other way and saw that they were surrounded. The women stared hungrily at the four demigods, and those holding knitting needles had left the yarn where they sat.

Sara and May stood up, facing the women. Damon tried to do the same, though supporting Tors’ twitching, stumbling body made it difficult. He saw Sara’s hand dart to her wrist, and May raised her arms in front of her. Eventually, Damon and Tors managed to stumble to their feet, and stood behind the girls, facing the women at the other end of the train. Now, other passengers were starting to notice the commotion, and there passed several tense seconds as Damon waited to see who would move first.

It was the women. As Damon watched, he saw them twist strangely, their noses widening and teeth lengthening, until they looked half human, half bat, with leathery wings and beady, froggish eyes. Most brandished shriveled claws, though some held knitting needles which lengthened into pairs of wickedly sharp curved swords. Seeing the transformation, some of the other passengers screamed, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sara’s sword flash. Damon grabbed his own dagger and brandished it at the monsters, who launched themselves at him with bared yellow fangs.

As they approached, Tors looked up and fixed the creatures with a fierce stare, stopping them in their tracks. Damon looked behind him and saw Sara slashing at the monsters, while May swung thorny plants at them like whips. After a few moments, he saw May point at the floor, from which a thick knot of ivy sprouted, tangling the monsters and pinning them against the ceiling of the train.

“Everyone out!” yelled Sara at the stunned witnesses. “Go!” She pointed at the passage around the trunk of ivy, while the creatures clawed and bit at the plant, attempting to free themselves. The passengers began hurrying under the ivy into the next carriage, and the demigods followed, Tors and Damon stumbling backward so that Tors could keep his eye contact with the monsters.

When they passed the door between carriages, they shut it just in time, as the monsters in the ivy ripped through the stems binding them and dived towards the door. Quickly, May and Sara pointed at the door, which grew a thick knot of stems and vines, almost covering the door in plants in the effort to keep it shut. Damon felt Tors convulse again and was thrown off balance, the pair stumbling into the nearest seat and collapsing there.

“What _are_ those things?” asked Damon, as the door began to shake from the creatures’ attempts to force it open.

“ _Keres_ ,” said Sara breathing heavily. “Spirits of violent death, from Hades. Don’t let them scratch you.”

“Why?”

“They’re venomous,” said Sara. “One scratch and you’re dead.” At that moment, a huge THWACK shook the door.

“Do all of Hades’ minions look like they play bingo?” asked Damon sarcastically, remembering Alecto’s wrinkled skin and shriveled hands. Sara looked at him, apparently surprised that he could have a sense of humor. To be honest, Damon wasn’t sure where it had come from, but surviving Hades had awoken something inside him. Perhaps even reawoken. Damon had chosen death, but he’d never felt so alive.

“What the FUCK is going on?” one terrified looking passenger, who stared at their swords with wide eyes. “You’re gonna kill us!” The other passengers began backing away from them, all staring at their weapons.

“We’re not here to kill you,” said Damon in frustration. “But those things are. We need to keep moving up the train.”

“Why should we trust you?” said the passenger, glaring at them with a mixture of anger and terror.

“Would you rather trust them?” said Damon, pointing at the door which, helpfully, gave another deafening THWACK. He could see the passengers all weighing their options and all coming to the same conclusion. As one, the group began filtering through the door in a half-panic, pushing through each other to get away from the _Keres_.

“And tell everyone to keep moving up the train,” called Sara as the group inside the carriage dwindled in size.

“And then what?” asked Damon, but before he could reply, everyone’s focus was drawn by the same noise. Or, rather, lack thereof.

The door had stopped rattling.

“Why have they stopped?” asked Sara, raising her sword in anticipation. In answer, the windows either side of them burst inward, spraying them with shards of glass. The _Keres_ then began flying in through the smashed windows as air was sucked in and out of the carriage, creating a deafening sound as it was chopped up by the speed of the train. The passengers behind them screamed, fighting even harder to get through to the next carriage first. Again, Sara brandished her sword and May her vine whips. Damon tried to get him and Tors to their feet, but just then the train swayed violently, sending them crashing to the floor. Damon twisted to keep an eye on the _Keres_ , and managed to raise his knife just in time to block a blow from the nearest _Ker_ ’s sword. As their blades clashed, the _Ker_ dropped her other sword and raised her hand, striking at Damon with her deadly claws, wrapping her arm around him flying back up, pulling him with her. Damon felt her claws dig into his back, and instantly it felt like ravine of fire had appeared there. Ignoring the darkness at the corners of his vision, Damon writhed in her grasp, managing to disarm her with his dagger, but his wriggling made her tighten her grip, forcing her agonizing claws deeper into his back.

The _Ker_ then flapped her bat wings and dived out the nearest window, the air catching her wings as she reared into the air, matching the train’s speed. In desperation, Damon managed to plunge his knife directly into the arm that held him, making her relinquish him in pain. He crashed onto the train roof, hearing something in his right arm give a sickening crunch. Staggering to his feet, the pain in his back becoming harder and harder to ignore, he turned to face the _Ker_ , who landed on the roof in front of him and licked her fangs with a pointed black tongue, her saliva dripping onto the train where it sizzled like acid.

The air whipping at his face, Damon tried to raise his dagger, but for some reason, his arm refused to work, and every attempt to move it resulted in a stab of pain. With no other choice, he passed the blade to his clumsier left hand and raised it at the _Ker_ , who gave a wicked laugh before approaching, ready to strike with her deadly claws. Damon looked down at himself, seeing yellowish scratches across his chest. He was glad he couldn’t see the wounds on his back, which must be ten times worse. Along his shoulder blades, tattered tails of t-shirt flapped around in the tunnel of wind created by the train’s speed.

“Rude,” he said, trying not to stumble over the side of the train. “I liked this shirt.”

“The battle’s over,” said the _Ker_ , in a cackle that might have belonged to the old woman she had disguised herself as. “Already my venom begins its work. Only a god could save you now. Perhaps your mother might help, though I don’t see her anywhere, do you? I expect she’ll be glad to have her hands washed of you.” As she spoke, Damon noticed a pair of train headlights in the distance traveling the opposite direction and formulated a desperate plan.

“My mother is no goddess!” Damon shouted, the pain in his body suddenly spiking, working as a substitute for bravery. Suddenly, and he wasn’t sure why, he was scaldingly angry. He felt his body tense up- another one of his episodes- but thank the gods it wasn’t a bad one. If he had been forced to double over, he might have slipped off the train, being turned into paste as soon as he hit the ground. Instead, the impossible, unexpected wrath ran through his veins, his ears pounding.

Damon had often heard a fierce stare described as looking daggers. Now he knew how it felt to have the daggers’ handles at your end. He felt like he had in Camp Half-Blood, so long ago, when he’d shattered the mirror in the armory. Surprising him, the _Ker_ ’s face flitted into nervousness for a moment, and she stepped back. Damon pressed what little advantage he had. The whips of air around him felt less cold, as if an electric current was warming him from the inside. Perhaps that was just the _Ker_ ’s venom.

“You can’t escape your ancestry,” said the _Ker_ , regaining her footing. She still looked a little nervous, though Damon had no idea why. “Your mother is a god-”

“No!” Damon shouted again. Though his voice was loud- it had to be to carry over the deafening air rushing in his ears- it was not its volume that was powerful. Damon’s voice was cold, sharp, and almost musical. “She’s thirty-five, and she’s been my mother since I was six, and she loves me more than any goddess! If that goddess doesn’t want me as a son, I don’t want her as a mother!” The train swayed, and Damon fell onto his right arm, almost tripping over the edge. The impact with his arm caused double the previous agony to shoot through it, and the _Ker_ laughed again. Gritting his teeth, Damon stumbled to his feet again, careful not to slip over the edge of the carriage. The adjacent train was getting closer, and he knew he had to act quickly.

“The mortal? She doesn’t even share your blood.”

“She doesn’t need to!” yelled Damon. “She’s kind and strong and braver than you or any goddess.”

“Oh? How so?”

“SHE WORKS IN RETAIL!” Damon bellowed, lunging at the _Ker_ , who sidestepped. Expecting this, he plunged his knife into the _Ker_ ’s wrist, who screamed in pain. Then, using the knife like a handle, Damon began to spin, swinging the _Ker_ around him before letting go of his knife, hurling her off the train like a discus. She screamed as she hit the ground, attempting to stand up before, as was Damon’s plan, the adjacent train flattened her with a nauseating _splat_.

Damon allowed himself a moment of triumph before pain shot through his back and arm, making him double over. He staggered over the carriage, looking for a way back in. In the dark, it was difficult to see much, but he managed to make out a square trapdoor on the next carriage over. He shuffled to the gap between carriages and, trying not to look down, jumped over it, landing almost directly on the trapdoor, which he forced open with his working arm and jumped into, crumpling onto the floor of the train carriage.

“Damon! Are you ok?”

“Fine-” Damon tried to say, but he was interrupted by another jolt of pain. He staggered to his feet and looked at them, who were all staring at his wounds.

“She got you…” said Tors. “Her venom…”

“We can’t worry about that now,” said Damon. “What do we do?”

“We need to keep moving,” said Sara.

“And then what?” said Damon, staring at her. “We can only get so far. What do we do when we reach the end of the train? We can’t hold them off forever.”

May began walking around the carriage, pointing at the black windows, which each turned to a thick plank of solid ebony wood.

“Try shattering them now,” said May as she finished with the last window before reaching up and closing the trapdoor, knotting it shut with a thick rope of vine.

“Wh- how? How did you turn those into wood?!” said Sara, staring at her in awe. “I’ve never been able to do anything like that, that’s amazing!”

But May didn’t answer, and instead returned where the others were standing.

“Damon’s right, we can’t keep moving up the train forever.”

“Then what do you suppose we do?” asked Sara. “We can’t fight that many of them.”

For a moment, Damon’s vision swayed, the pain in his head intensified, and he stumbled over to sit next to Tors.

“We’ll have to face them eventually,” he said, the pain becoming increasingly harder to ignore.

“I-” Sara began, but she was cut off when the carriage gave a violent sideways lurch, more so than usual. It felt as though it was being… pushed.

“They’re trying to derail the carriage!” said Sara as it gave another jerk, this time become noticeably tilted before it crashed back onto the rails. Though he couldn’t see through the now wooden windows, he could picture the five remaining _Keres_ flying outside the carriage, attempting to push it over. “What now?!”

Damon was at a loss and he felt himself start to panic, which was only shocked out of him when he saw Tors stumble drunkenly to his feet.

“Idiots,” he croaked, half annoyed, half exasperated, before stepping unsteadily over to the side of the train and gripping a large red handle that read “EMERGENCY BREAK”. Damon felt like facepalming as Tors pulled the handle, causing them all to lurch forwards as the train started slowing rapidly, the wheels giving a hellish screech. Still, the train carriage swayed dangerously, and the four demigods stood defensively around each other, Damon once again supporting Tors’ weight.

There was a tense minute as the _Keres_ made another effort to tip the carriage, and Damon stumbled along the increasingly diagonal floor, praying that the train would stop in time. The train got slower, the _Keres_ pushed harder, the train got slower, the _Keres_ pushed harder-

At last the train was pushed over the edge and physics did the rest of the work, pulling the carriage to the ground as the demigods stumbled into the wall that was quickly becoming a floor.

Damon felt the gravity change, saw the lights flicker, and closed his eyes as he felt and heard the carriage, at last, crash into the earth.

 

At least Tors had pulled the emergency brake. Sure, a little earlier might have helped, but the train was going slow enough for the demigods to cling on to the seats for dear life, avoiding being sent headfirst to the floor. Above them, there came a scratching sound behind the now-wooden windows.

“Close your eyes,” Tors commanded. He looked a little better, though he still swayed as he stood.

“Why?” May questioned, but Damon hissed at her.

“Just do it!” She obliged, and the three of them closed their eyes, hearing the scratching above them grow louder and more frantic until something broke, and the _Keres_ forced their way into the train.

At once, the familiar sensations of blood-fingers ran over his skin, though this time they felt… worse. Before, they had been deeply unsettling. This time, they were downright dangerous. Damon clenched his eyes tighter than ever, which wasn’t hard, given how much pain he was in.

Again, the distant flutes began approaching, but this time they were more crazed, more primal than ever. Before they had been windsocks in a hurricane, now they were spirits, blown to dust by chaos. Their music was mad, without melody or sense. It felt like Damon was listening to existence itself. Even with his eyes tightly shut Damon felt something at the back of his mind start to rot and didn’t want to imagine what he would see if he opened his eyes.

No sooner had that thought reached his mind, when the blood-fingers snaked over his face and onto his eyes, trying to force themselves beneath his lids and prise them open. His eyeballs felt their chilling touch, and Damon pressed his hands over his face in a desperate attempt to prevent himself from looking.

This time, the blood-fingers didn’t retreat, the flutes didn’t fade. Instead, they simply… stopped. Where the flutes had been, an ancient echo bounced around Damon’s head. Where the blood-fingers had been, there was only the cold memory of their touch.

“You can open your eyes.”

Damon did so and felt slightly sick at what he saw. The _Keres_ were strewn about the floor, each in a disgustingly contorted position and twitching slightly. As he watched, the twitching began to fade, and the _Keres_ each began to dissolve into dust. Of each one, the face was the last thing to dissolve, and Damon was left with the image of those faces. He’d never of thought he could pity a _Ker_ , but that was before he’d ever seen a face in that kind of pain.

“I… may have overstretched myself,” said Tors, swaying again. Then, without another word, he collapsed onto the ground. Sara and Damon tried to rush over to him, but Damon saw her stumble and fall, shaking and exhausted like she had been after the Ipotanes. Damon tried to stay standing, but all at once, the pain from where the _Ker_ had scratched him intensified a hundredfold, making the room spin around him, giving him a nausea more intense than he had ever known, and he, too, fell to unconsciousness.


	15. Hecate

The next thing Damon knew, he was lying on something hard, listening to the wind, and tasting something extraordinary. It took him a moment, but he realized it tasted exactly like the chocolate fudge cake he used to have at the cafe down the road from his house. It had been years since he’d last had it, and at once he was reminded exactly how good it was. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see May poking small squares of food into his mouth and looking at him with a strangely sad smile.

Seeing him wake, May sat back, allowing him to chew and swallow the impossibly delicious food.

“What is that?” Damon looked around to see Sara and Tors sleeping peacefully beside him. They were camped on the side of a country road, with woodland fringing it on both sides. Beside him lay Sara’s sword, and in the distance, the sun was just tickling the horizon.

“What? Never had ambrosia before?”

“Ambrosia…” Damon racked his brains of what little knowledge of Greek mythology he had. “The food of the gods?”

“That’s the one. Demigods can have it too. Only a little though- it helps heal injuries.”

“You mean, the venom!” Damon sat bolt upright, realizing the pain in his back had completely disappeared, and the pain in his arm had faded to a dull ache. “You cured it? But the _Ker_ said-”

“GET AWAY ZAG-” Next to him, Tors jolted upright, making a strange slurping noise as he was jolted into consciousness. Damon hid a laugh as Tors opened his eyes and stared around. “We… alive?”

“Just about,” said May. “Took ages to get you here.”

“How _did_ you get us here?” asked Damon.

“A couple of the passengers offered to help,” May shrugged. “Wasn’t easy though.”

“What time is it?”

“Sunrise,” said Tors vaguely, pointing to the sun.

“Sunset, actually. You slept all day.”

“What about Sara,” Damon asked, staring at her. “Last time she was like this it took her 8 days to recover.”

“Ambrosia helps with fatigue,” said May. “She’ll be fine for a day or two. As long as she doesn’t do anything too strenuous.”

“Good thing we’re not planning to do anything strenuous,” said Damon, and May gave a wry laugh. “Is this the forest?” he gestured to the woodland around them. May nodded.

“Hecate’s in there somewhere.”

“Along with whatever’s keeping her captive,” said Tors, staring into the woods. Damon followed his gaze, and suddenly wished it wasn’t so late. Whatever was in there was capable of capturing a god, and he didn’t feel particularly keen to fight it in the middle of a dark wood.

Then, remembering, his hand darted to his back pocket where he found his dagger had returned. He drew it, finding it completely clean of _Keres_ blood, and turned it over in his hand, wishing he had something a little bigger to fight… whatever it was.

“Do we go?” asked Damon, looking into the wood.

“No point in waiting,” said Tors emptily, standing up.

“How are your hallucinations?” Damon did the same, brushing the dust off his tattered jeans.

“Gone, for now. They come and go.” Damon smiled at him and Tors smiled back before his face relapsed back to its usual blank stare. Damon walked over to Sara, gently shaking her awake.

“Mrrrrpr-” she said as she was pulled back to consciousness. Her eyes opened slowly, and she stared up at him as her eyes focused. “You’re alive?”

“Only just.”

Sara sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and looked around.

“Hecate?” she said, nodding at the forest. Damon nodded, and Sara stood up, brushing herself off and picking up her sword from the ground beside her.

“Ready?” asked Damon to the group at large. May nodded, Tors stared at him knowingly, and Sara brandished her sword.

“Ready.”

* * *

As they trekked through the woods, the sun sank gently through the trees, lengthening their shadows into long and unsettling fingers that twisted and knotted over the uneven ground. May led the way, and as they drew further and further into the forest, the air grew strangely silent. The birdsong and cicadas faded until the only sound was their footsteps on the dry earth.

“We’re close,” said May after half an hour of walking. Damon would have asked how she could be sure, but he thought he knew what she meant. He, too, could feel a strange chill permeate the forest, making him shiver slightly. Some cold power was emanating from somewhere close by. The group began to tread more softly, each keeping their eye out for the slightest hint of movement. When a twig behind him snapped, Damon almost jumped out of his skin before he realized it was just a young deer who appeared to be following them.

It seemed incredibly brave, and even when Damon approached it, it didn’t run away. He cautiously reached a hand, and the deer bowed its head, allowing him to pet its soft head between the stubs that would one day become antlers. He stared at in awe, until a noise behind him made it stand alert. Damon looked around and saw the others approach him, but the sight of so many people seemed to spook the deer, and it ran off through the trees. Damon looked after it, caught in its freedom and tranquility before the cold reached his senses again and he turned back to the others. 

But before he could take another step, something beneath them rumbled like earthly thunder, causing the ground to shake. Damon saw the others stand ready, and he tried to keep his balance as the quaking grew louder. From the ground between them, a skeletal hand sprouted through the earth, a growing like a plant in a time-lapse video. Soon the wrist, elbow, shoulder had left the earth, and Damon realized he was watching a skeleton crawl from beneath the earth.

Without hesitation, Sara began slashing at it with her sword, but the skeleton dodged her blows. Managing to stand at its full height- which was taller than any of the demigods- it brandished its own sword made of a chilling black metal. It slashed at Sara, who caught the blade on hers, while Tors pointed at the ground, causing grape vines to grow around its ankles, rooting it in place. Seeing his chance, Damon lunged at it from behind, plunging his dagger deep into the back of its skull. The skeleton gave a sickening _crunch_ , and collapsed, disintegrating while its sword impaled the earth and stood upright, quivering slightly.

Damon stepped back, breathing heavily. Apparently, his arm wasn’t fully healed, and the exertion from killing the skeleton had caused waves of pain to run over it. He winced but gritted his teeth as he looked at the others.

“Was that is?” he asked. “Is that what captured Hecate.”

“No,” said Tors, for some reason looking even more scared than before. “That was just a soldier. Someone was controlling it.”

“Very clever, hero,” said a strange, booming voice. It wasn’t unclear, but Damon had to listen harder than usual to understand what it was saying.

“Who are you?” yelled Sara, raising her sword and looking quickly between the trees for the source of the voice.

“You wouldn’t know me,” said the voice. “Your people have long since forgotten my worship.”

“Worship,” said Tors sharply. “So you’re a god.” The voice gave a cold, sharp sigh, and a slight movement caught Damon’s eye. He looked and saw the air shimmer slightly before a middle-aged man in a sharp business suit appeared right next to the tree there. His hair was short, black and cleanly parted, and he carried a long, pale gray walking stick. His face, however, was harder to describe. It seemed to change and morph before Damon’s eyes. First, the man’s eyes were dark, absorbing all light like tiny black holes. The next second, they looked a muted, sickly purple. Then, they appeared to flash red, before becoming black once more. Just when Damon thought he had a good image of the man, he blinked, and he would change ever so slightly, his suit cycling between the same three color as his eyes. He appeared to be three men, mashed into one, and each taking turns at staring at the demigods with danger in his color-changing eyes.

“Trisheros,” he said, giving a mock bow and remaining utterly unsmiling. “God of messages, at your service.”

“‘Trisheros’,” said May, almost laughing. “You’re making that up. There’s no such god as Trisheros. Besides, _Hermes_ is our messenger god.”

“I assure you I am Trisheros, and and I am indeed the messenger god. Specifically, messenger between the dead and the living. But perhaps you have forgotten me, _daughter of Demeter_.” He spoke the last three words with a strange knowingness that, for some reason, made May grit her teeth in anger.

“Who are you?” she said in a much more serious tone.

“I told you. I’m Trisheros,” he said in a cropped, businesslike manner. “But don’t expect me to tell you anything else.”

“Where’s Hecate?” Sara yelled at him, and Trisheros looked at her with an almost disappointed expression.

“What did I just say?” At these words, another, far stronger rumbling gripped the earth, making Damon stumble over a tree root. He heard a deep cracking sound, and looked behind him to see ten, twenty, thirty, maybe more skeletal hands sprouting from the ground, clattering to their feet and brandishing all sorts of deadly black weapons, some with spears who’s tips that glinted like jewels. They had sprouted into an army, cutting off any escape route.

In an instant, May raised her hands, and a cluster of plants ground in front of her and rearing like cobras at the skeletons. She pointed at them, and the plants began whipping and tangling the skeletons, who all started slashing clumsily to get themselves free. But each time one would cut a vine, another would sprout in its place, preventing them from gaining any ground.

“I’ll take care of them,” May yelled over her shoulder. “You three deal with him.”

“You sure you can handle them on your own?” said Damon, worried, but May laughed slightly. To answer, she sent a tree root snaking along the ground, tripping up the entire first row of skeletons in one blow. There were a series of _pops_ , and 6 of the fallen skeletons became tangles of thorny bush, tripping up the skeletons behind them. Damon couldn’t help but marvel at how powerful a demigod May was.

“Yeah, I can handle them.”

Damon turned back to Trisheros, who was staring at them with a calculated, efficient type of anger.

“Are you really going to fight me?” he asked, sounding almost bored. Tors sent a grapevine to knot itself around his ankles, but Trisheros simply looked at it and sighed in resignation. “Fine.”

Then, he began to grow. In a matter of seconds, he doubled in height, and his light gray walking stick thickened and lengthened, becoming an imposing staff made of what looked like an enormous human leg bone. As he grew, his shoes widened, breaking through Tors’ vines with ease.

“Come on then,” Sara called up to the now giant Trisheros. “We’ll let you make the first move.”

Accompanied by the sound of May’s fight with the skeletons behind them, the three demigods drew closer together, looking up at Trisheros, who surveyed them with contempt. In one sharp motion, he raised his staff and slammed it on the ground. At once, a mammoth-sized catlike creature with black fur and empty eye sockets appeared, towering over the demigods and giving a deep, guttural hiss. It crouched, then sprung at them with outstretched, footlong claws.

The demigods scattered, just barely avoiding being shredded by the creature’s bared fangs. Damon ran at the hind legs, stabbing at the nearest paw with all his strength. His blade entered the creature’s body and it screeched in pain, kicking its back leg and sending Damon flying into the nearest tree. Damon crumpled, sliding down the trunk as his vision swayed. He could see Tors and Sara fighting the creature, while Trisheros looked down at them, still standing by the tree next to which he had first appeared.

Though his arm and back were once again throbbing, Damon stood up and returned to the fray. This time, he took a running jump and, with his knife between his teeth, grabbed on to the creature’s body, barely managing to hold on to its slick, oily fur. He forced himself to climb up, ignoring the sharp ache in his right arm, and made it to the top of the creature, riding it like an overly large horse.

Noticing the weight on its back, the creature began shaking vigorously, attempting to hurl Damon off. Clinging on for dear life, Damon felt himself tossed this way and that, the knife in his mouth cutting at the corners of his lips.

Thankfully, Tors and Sara realized what he was doing, and together they sent a thick rope of plants up and around the creature’s neck, holding it like reins on a horse. The creature growled, attempting to pull its head free, and Damon seized the opportunity. While it was distracted, Damon slid precariously up the creature’s back until he reached its neck, took his knife from between his teeth and plunged it into the creature’s head. It gave a deafening screech, then melted away, leaving Damon to fall the considerable distance to the earth.

In the air, Damon twisted his body, managing to land upright. Though the impact sent considerable pain through his knees, he didn’t appear to have broken anything and stood back up, staring up at Trisheros.

“Come fight us yourself!” yelled Sara, panting slightly. “Or are you too scared of a couple of demigods?”

Trisheros glared at her, no longer bored, but he still didn’t move. Instead, he simply raised his staff again as if to summon another cat monster. Tors reacted first, growing a rope of vines to knot around the staff, before twisting and wrenching it from Trisheros’ grasp. It spun through the air, then landed behind the army of skeletons that May was still holding off, though she looked exhausted.

“Come on!” Sara yelled again. “Why won’t you fight?!”

“He can’t,” said Damon, realizing it as he spoke. “He’s staying next to that tree. Almost like he’s… protecting it. Because,” Damon spoke quietly so that Trisheros wouldn’t hear him over the sounds of May’s fight with the skeletons. He racked his brain, the cogs in his brain working furiously. “Because… because _that’s where Hecate is!_ ”Damon heard Sara gasp and even allowed himself to be a little impressed by his deduction.

“What do we do?”

“I can distract him,” said Tors. “But I don’t know how long for. I’ve never tried it on a god before.”

“Just give me as much time as you can,” said Damon. “Sara, stay with Tors. Be ready to help him if things go south. I’ll get to the tree.” The other two nodded, and the three of them turned back to Trisheros.

At once, Trisheros’ kaleidoscopic eyes widened as Tors fixed a fierce gaze on him. Though Tors strained and grunted with the effort, he managed to maintain the eye contact, and Damon saw those old and primal things stir behind Trisheros’ eyes. This time, however, they were the eyes of a god, and Damon dared not look long. Even a brief glance felt like staring down into Tartarus, not wanting to imagine what might be at the bottom.

Without hesitation, Damon darted forwards, dodging around Trisheros’ giant body, now quivering dangerously, and reached the tree he was guarding. It was a simple oak, and though he searched, Damon couldn’t see anything unusual about it. Starting to panic that his theory might’ve been wrong, Damon pressed his hand against the trunk and began to whisper.

“Hello?” Though the tree didn’t appear to change, Damon could sense the Nymph’s presence. “Please, tell me how I can free Hecate.”

There was a brief pause, in which Damon feared the worst, when something guided his arm, raising his dagger for him and pointing to the top of the tree. He looked up, but saw nothing but the top of a large oak, stretching towards the night sky.

“Look harder,” whispered a voice inside his head. “Look through the Mist.”

Damon squinted, straining his eyes, and slowly something came into view. A small, muted pinprick of red light on the topmost branch. Realizing what he had to do, Damon pocketed his dagger and began to climb.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the tree as he grabbed the nearest branch and began to climb.

Though he shook with the effort, Damon managed to slowly scale the tree, stretching from branch to branch like a distinctly inelegant tree frog. Five branches up, he allowed himself to look back at Trisheros, who was starting to regain movement. When Damon saw Tors shaking violently with the effort of keeping eye contact with the god, he turned back to the tree and started climbing it faster than before, no matter how much it made his muscles ache.

With only two branches to go, Damon heard something break behind him. He glanced round, and saw Tors fall to the ground, defeated, while Trisheros turned to face Damon in the tree, his indistinct face now a mixture of rage and fear. He raised his hand, apparently about to strike, but then something caused him to stumble backward, his eyes crossed, grunting in pain. Sara had thrown her sword, managing to impale Trisheros in the back of the head. Golden blood thudded to the ground like rain as he reached up to pull the sword out of his skull.

“Over here, you pile of moist bureaucracy!” It wasn’t the most cutting insult Damon had ever heard, nor did it make much sense. However, even at a distance, Damon could see how much Sara was struggling to stay on her feet, and he was impressed she could say anything at all, let alone bullseye the back of Trisheros’ head with her sword.

While he was distracted, Damon scrambled up the final few branches and found himself at the top of the tree, where a small, lidded ceramic jar rested on the topmost branch, glowing with a muted red light. Without hesitation, Damon seized it and prised the lid off, causing it to explode with light.

From out of the jar materialized a woman with chalk-white skin, her emerald dress flowing and shimmering like fog, and her black hair knotted and disheveled. She turned to face Damon, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Thank you, hero,” she said, before appearing to melt into nothingness, though when Damon glanced down he saw she had materialized at the base of the tree, matching Trisheros in height, who roared in defeat. The pair then began to glow with contrasting purple and blue light.

Damon heard Sara scream something, but was too far away to hear. The gods began to glow brighter and brighter, and the back of Damon’s eyeballs began to burn. Sara was still screaming, but her words were muffled and indistinct. He thought she might have said ‘close’, and wondered if he needed to put the lid back on the jar that had been Hecate’s prison. Then, just as the light began to burn Damon’s insides, there was a loud _crack_ and the tree upon which he sat broke, sending him tumbling to the earth.

He heard something crunch, felt his head his something solid, and lay on his back watching the trees sway above him like long fingers tickling the night sky.

The blinding light swelled, then vanished all at once, leaving him to lie in darkness and silence and pain.


	16. The Last Hurrah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of vomit.

Damon heard heavy footsteps approach in a run, thudding across the forest floor.

“Damon? Damon, oh my gods, did you look at them? Those were their divine forms, if you looked at them…” it was Sara, sounding like the only reason she was still awake was that her body was running on panic.

“If he saw them he’d already be dead,” said another voice. Though his head was hazy, Damon recognized it as May’s.

“But his head,” said a third voice. This one took even longer to identify because Tors’ voice was essentially a death rattle. “That is a lot of blood…”

“Let me,” said a fourth voice, this one unrecognizable. Damon heard another shuffle of footsteps and felt a hand on his shoulder. A strange face with secrets behind misty eyes peered over him, and suddenly he felt a warm, comforting sensation spread through his body, starting at the place the woman (after seeing a glimpse of emerald fabric, he deduced it must be Hecate) had touched him. As the sensation met the pain, it doused it effortlessly, and as it reached his head, his vision began to clear. He was still in substantial pain, but after a few moments, he managed to sit up.

“Did… did we do it?”

“Yes,” said Hecate. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Damon, giving a weak smile. The moment was brief, however, as just then Tors gave a painful yell and collapsed onto the ground. 

“Tors!"

Damon stumbled to his feet and rushed over to him. He was on the ground, twitching and convulsing harder than Damon had ever seen him.

“He challenged a god head on,” said May gravely. “He’s lucky he survived.”

“But, we have to help him!” cried Damon, who hated seeing Tors like this. But just as he said it, Tors fell limp, breathing heavily. He raised his head and stared blankly at Damon. Too blankly. His eyes were a misted white.

“I… can’t see…” he said slowly, his eyes darting around frantically. “I can’t… I’m, I’m blind.”

Hecate approached him, her emerald dress flowing behind her like it was made of wet paint. She approached, and held Tors’ face in her hand, startling him. Then, she stared at him, making judgments and calculations before settling on a diagnosis.

“Temporary,” she said, making Damon tear up in relief. “But the right eye is most heavily damaged. The left should heal in a few weeks, but the right might take years, and even then it will remain disfigured.”

“Can’t you heal him now?” asked Sara, her voice weakening by the second.

“I’m not a god of medicine,” said Hecate, standing up. “Perhaps Ambrosia might speed the healing process. But the damage to his mind…” she trailed off into a tense, ominous silence. “I need to return to my duties. It seems I have neglected them during my imprisonment.” She turned to leave, and Damon called urgently after her.

“Wait!” Hecate turned back around to face him. “Hades told us, he said you could restore his power.”

“Oh, he did? I suppose he’s not wrong, but I can only maintain it for now.”

“Please,” said Damon, failing to stop a couple of tears from running down his cheeks. “He said he’d release my father if we freed you.”

“I must prioritize my duties, and I must work to regain my strength. But here,” she said, waving her hand. In front of her, a small ball of mist appeared, which shimmered and twisted as it floated over to Damon, becoming a small drawstring pouch, stuffed round and scented with various indescribable herbs- a poultice of some sort. Damon caught it and looked back at Hecate. “That contains enough of my magic to restore Hades’ power, it just needs a little help.”

“What do you mean?” asked Damon as Hecate once again returned to leave.

“There’s only so much I can tell you, even in thanks for freeing me,” said Hecate vaguely. “But I would suggest asking Hestia.” In an instant, the air shimmered around her and she melted away, leaving Damon to stare after her, still holding the pouch in his hands.

Next to him, Sara began swaying dangerously, and Damon stuffed the pouch into his pocket, catching her just as she fell, her eyes closed and her hands shaking violently.

“Do you have any more ambrosia?” asked Damon.

“Yeah, but…” said May, “I’m not sure it’d be a good idea. She’s had a lot already, any more and she might burn up.”

“Then you help her. I’ll guide Tors.” Damon shifted Sara’s weight, and May took her, Sara’s arm slung over her shoulder. Damon then walked over to Tors and helped him up. Together, with May supporting Sara and Damon leading Tors by the hand, they trekked slowly back through the woods, tripping on many a tree root. It wasn’t easy, and they walked much slower than before, but at least now the pleasant sounds of the forest had returned to accompany them.

“What are we supposed to do?” asked Damon after a few minutes of silence. “‘Ask Hestia’, what does that even mean?"

“Fire,” said Tors, his voice still deathly weak. “Hestia tends the fire at Camp.”

“So…” Damon thought hard, pulling the pouch from his pocket and examining it. “It needs Hestia’s help, so if we sacrifice this to Hades… would that work?” 

“It’s the only idea we have,” said May, struggling somewhat with Sara’s weight.

“Do you want to swap?” asked Damon, seeing her stumble slightly.

“I’m fine,” she said, pressing onwards. Damon made to follow her, but something nudged at his leg. He looked round, and saw the same deer as before, gently nuzzling at a hole in his jeans where his leg had been gashed and was still bleeding substantially. The deer licked the wound, and Damon couldn’t help but pet it again, scratching behind its ears and wondering why it was so brave so as to approach humans. The deer looked at him with more knowledge in its eyes than he could have expected, before turning and sprinting away through the trees. Perhaps it had been thanking him. He couldn’t know, of course, but he liked to think so.

A long and difficult while later, they reached the road and walked clumsily down it, the forest retreating into the distance behind them. As they walked, sunlight began to poke over the horizon, making Damon realize exactly how tired he was. Pink light tinted their surroundings, which faded to a more intense yellow as the sun itself rose. In the other direction, the outline of a city slid into view, making Damon’s eyes sting with relief. He imagined the warm bed of a hotel, of food and of safety, but the fantasy was quickly ripped from him. They needed to get to Camp Half-Blood, and when they did, it would mean his death. This was the last time he would see the sun rise, or feel pain or hunger of fatigue. He wondered if he’d done enough to make it to Elysium, or if he’d be forever sentenced to wander the Fields of Asphodel, or perhaps even the Fields of Punishment. Given that Hades seemed to have a personal vendetta against him, he didn’t like his odds.

The train journey back was, thankfully, less eventful than the journey there. Damon sat next to Tors, while Sara lay across from them across multiple seats, her eyes closed and her face an unpleasant green tint. May had taken the seat next to Damon, but after a short while she had gone to search the train for a cafeteria, a food car, _something_ , while the others sat with the pain of hunger as company. To any of the other passengers, this was a normal day, an average commute, but to Damon, it was his last hurrah. It had been a long time since he’d found joy in the world, but if this was his last day of life, he wanted it to be as meaningful as it could be.

It was strange. Damon hadn’t even expected to live this long. Every time he expected death- entering the Underworld, freeing Hecate- it seemed to be postponed, leaving him in a sort of pre-mourning but for himself. He was happy it had turned out like this though. He’d anticipated Hecate restoring Hades’ power as soon as she was freed, but leaving the task to them gave him time to see the world, to simply be with his friends, without the threat and goal of the quest hanging over their heads.

Suddenly, the thoughts in his head swelled, and he felt himself start to cry. First, it was small, silent tears, but eventually stifled sobs shook him. He tried to wipe away the tears, but more kept replacing them, dripping from his chin onto his tattered shirt. Next to him, he felt Tors fumble slightly, reaching for his hand. When he found it, he squeezed it gently, making further tears sting Damon’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Damon managed.

“It’s ok.”

“I don’t know why I thought I could do this. I don’t know, I don’t… you know, the funny thing is, part of me always hoped I might survive this quest. I thought, maybe, it could make me brave, and I could return to camp a hero. A part of me really believed that. But I, I guess I’m not destined to be anything else, am I? Looks like I’m going to die the crybaby.”

“You didn’t need to change,” said Tors. Damon knew he was hopeless, but he appreciated the effort.

“Thanks, but I-”

“No, listen,” said Tors bluntly. Damon closed his mouth, staring at Tors, who’s blind eyes slid directionlessly around the train. “You bargained with Hades and survived. You fought a _Ker_ on the top of a moving train and won. And you should have seen the amount of blood on the ground when you fell out of that tree. Imagine you never went on this quest, you’d probably never have done any of that. But the person who did would still be inside you, would still be _you_. You thought you were weak, forgettable, but that was before you were tested. And if you lived a normal, forgettable life, you would still be that hero. You just wouldn’t know it.”

“I…” tears streamed from Damon’s eyes, faster than ever before. “Thank you. Thank you so so much, I-” When he spoke, his voice was thick and mucusy, and shook with the effort of keeping steady.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked, are you…”

“What?”

“Are- your eyes- are you ok?”

“I’m not scared of being blind if that is what you mean. Shocked maybe, but not scared. It’s not even permanent.”

“The way you held Trisheros, I’d never imagined a demigod could fight a god like that. You’re… really something.”

“Yeah, well,” said Tors, a slight and uncharacteristic tremble in his voice. “I don’t think I got off lightly.”

“Your eyes?”

“Oh, no,” said Tors, almost giving a dark, croaky laugh. “Blindness isn’t bad. It’s difficult, but it isn’t bad. But my brain… I was already mad, and now I-”

For the first time ever, Damon saw real, thick tears form in Tors’ eyes, heard his usually blank voice choke up. Damon squeezed Tors’ hand a little, and Tors squeezed his back. There was something unspoken between them. Damon couldn’t explain it, but he got the sense that he didn’t need to. Tors was, as he put it, mad. Perhaps that meant he understood things that couldn’t be explained, at the cost of not understanding things that could.

There was a shuffling sound, and Damon looked to see Sara sit up, unsteady and still pale, but conscious. She looked at Tors, her forest green eyes looked pained, and Damon didn’t think it was just the CFS.

“He’s right. Not all demigods could do what you did. Even if you paid for it.”

“But that’s the thing,” said Tors. “I haven’t paid for it yet. Not really. My eyes, that’s just the battle wound. There are far worse things waiting for me.” Damon swallowed. He didn’t like the certainty in Tors’ voice, as if he could see the future.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure yet. When I looked at Trisheros, that eye contact, it’s like I saw  _i_ _nside_ him. He planted something inside my head, like a bomb, ticking down. And when the counter reaches zero, that’s when I pay for challenging a god. And I don’t think it’ll be pretty."

“I’m sorry,” said Damon, his eyes filling with tears again. “I asked you to distract him. I brought this on you, I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Tors, his voice uncharacteristically airy. “Besides, it hasn’t happened yet. I’ve got time.”

“More time than me,” said Damon, and the others gave a grim laugh. It felt refreshing to just be with the two of them. May was part of the quest now, but it was the three of them who’d walked into the Underworld and faced Hades. Sharing that kind of experience had created a certain indescribable something between them.

“Backward,” he said, his thoughts tumbling out of his mouth before he could string them into a coherent sentence. The others looked at him. “I mean, it’s like we know each other backward. I know what you think of death, of madness. I know what you fear and how you fight, but I don’t know… you know, _normal_ stuff. Like pets, and favorite foods, and your parents, and-”

“I have a dog,” said Sara suddenly, as if the words had run out of her mouth like the train they were riding.

“I love pizza,” said Tors.

“My mom’s a cashier,” said Damon. The confessions were stunted and awkward, but for some reason, they felt good. A layer of normality in a crazy reality.

“Mine’s a firefighter,” said Tors, surprising Damon. He’d forgotten that firefighter was a real career, not just what kids wanted to be when they grew up (before they actually did).

“My dad’s a nurse,” said Sara.

“I have a goldfish,” said Tors. The three of them- even Tors- were starting to give genuine smiles.

“I love sundaes,” said Sara, looking a little dreamy as she said it. A little color had returned to her face, but she still didn’t look very well.

“Chocolate cake,” said Damon. “There’s this place near my house, it does the best chocolate cake in the world. Nothing comes close. I gotta take you there some time after…”

He trailed off, the illusion of OK collapsing around them all. There was no ‘after’ for him. They all avoided each other’s eye contact. Damon hadn’t thought about it before, but here were just more people he would be leaving behind.

Through the window, Damon saw the scenery glide past. He could feel himself speed towards his death. And not just because of the speed of the train.

“Did you mean it?” Tors mumbled. He seemed nervous to say it, but there was something else- anger? Bitterness? Sadness? Damon wasn’t sure. “What you said about Asphodel. Do you really believe it’s worse than the Fields of Punishment.” Sara took a while to answer.

“Yeah, I do. Why?”

“Because… I don’t think it’s the same. Not for me. You said souls in Asphodel forget who they once were. And there’s a lot about me I’d like to forget. In Asphodel, I could fade away. I wouldn’t be human anymore but… I wouldn’t have this brain anymore either. Sometimes…” he took a sharp breath. “Sometimes there’s so much pain, it’s worth losing your humanity just to make it stop.” Sara looked taken aback, and the fatigue in her exhausted eyes seemed to double.

“Sorry, guys, no food on the train, but- HEY!”

Damon looked around, his hand darting to his pocket. May had returned empty-handed, but the lack of food wasn’t what alarmed him. Next to him, in May’s seat, sat a businessman with cleanly parted hair, a crisp, garish red suit, and eyes like fire.

Trisheros.

“Easy, easy,” he said in his bored voice while the demigods rushed to draw their weapons. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not even all here.” As he said it, Damon realized he was different. He wasn’t changing and had seemed to settle on the red color scheme, as if he was only one of the three men they’d faced in the woods.

“You expect us to trust your word?” 

“I swear on the river Styx that I am not here to harm you in any way.” Damon looked at Sara, who blinked, before returning her sword to bracelet form. None of the mortals around had noticed anything; apparently, now that Hecate was free, the Mist was doing its work.

“Then why are you here?” asked May, still suspicious.

“I _am_ a messenger god,” he said reproachfully.

“Then why not send Hermes?”

“I am a messenger between the dead and the living. My client is, uh, shall we say… under the weather?”

“Who’s sending us a message?” Sara’s eyes were narrowed, and she still fingered her bracelet nervously. What little color she had gained was quickly leaving her face, and her hands were starting to tremble again.

“Rare to have a reverse delivery,” said Trisheros, not paying her any attention. He waved his hand and a suitcase appeared there, which he rummaged in. “Normally it’s the other way round. The living want to send all kinds of messages to the dead. Really, it’s a wonder they have time to do anything else.”

Damon’s brain buzzed. Who among the dead would want to send them a message? And who would use Trisheros to do it?

“ _Aha_ ,” said Trisheros, feigning enthusiasm. Damon couldn’t help but be reminded of Mr. D. Trisheros pulled out a picnic basket that should never have fit in a suitcase that size. “My client heard that you were hungry.”

“Your ‘client’,” said May coldly. “Who might that be?”

“I was well paid for anonymity,” said Trisheros.

“Of course, why not eat a basket of food, delivered from our enemy by an anonymous dead person. What could go wrong?” Damon said sarcastically. In response, Trisheros pulled out a small fold of paper from his suitcase and began to read.

“I, sender of this package, swear upon the river Styx that it contains no poisons or other dangers of any kind, excepting those with the relevant allergies.”

“Allergies?” asked Damon, confused. “What do you-”

“And I, deliverer of this package,” said Trisheros, dropping the note back into his suitcase, “swear the same upon the river Styx.” The demigods looked at him, still suspicious. Trisheros stood up, leaving the picnic basket where he had sat. He looked at Sara, Damon and Tors, with his back to May, and for some reason, he did not seem to include her as he spoke.

“It may surprise you, but I do not wish you three dead. Neither does my client. You will all be of great importance to him in the future.”

“‘Him’,” said Tors. He couldn’t see Trisheros, but he looked in the direction of his voice. “Your client is a ‘him’?”

Trisheros’ face turned more than a little cold. For a brief moment, his red eyes flashed black.

“Be very careful, Crier. I have chosen your consequence well. I, messenger for the dead, could easily kill you, but that would not be satisfying, would it? My client is the one who has cursed you. He can hurt far worse than I can kill, and I can assure you,” his voice became deathly quiet. “When the time comes, will not enjoy what he has done.” Though his voice was threatening, a very small part of it betrayed him. He was afraid. What Tors had done to him had scared him more than his pride would ever let him admit. And if Tors could frighten a god, Damon wondered if he should be afraid, too.

Trisheros’ whole body seemed to ripple, and he melted away into nothingness, leaving behind only the picnic basket and a whole lot of complicated emotions.

May sat down, pulling the picnic basket from the floor and setting it gingerly on her lap.

“I mean, they did swear on the Styx, right?” said Sara. She looked at the others, who all shrugged. They were uncertain, but none could think of a way around those oaths. May opened the basket and peered inside.

“It’s… food,” she said. She reached in and pulled out an enormous pizza box that should have been too big to fit.

“Pizza,” said Damon, confused. A vague theory formed in his head, and he looked at the basket. “Is there anything else?”

May handed him the pizza, reached back into the basket and pulled out a giant sundae glass, filled with ice cream and decorated with syrups every color of the rainbow and a long, thin spoon poking out the top. Despite the clear exhaustion in her face, Sara’s eyes lit up.

“I think,” said Damon slowly. “I think someone is sending us a message.” The others looked at him. “While May was looking for something to eat, all of us mentioned our favorite foods. Pizza,” he said, glancing at Tors, “sundaes,” he caught Sara’s eye, “and-”

“Chocolate cake?” said May, holding up a truly giant hunk of cake. It rested on a paper plate twice as large as usual, sagging under the cake’s weight. Damon nodded.

“This ‘client’, he’s telling us something. He’s telling us he knows who we are. I think he’s saying…” Damon swallowed. “I think he’s saying he’s listening.”

The others looked grim as this ominous possibility loomed over them. Damon glanced up and down the train, and saw any number of mortals that might be something in disguise- monsters maybe, or gods. Or worse.

“A sundae’s a sundae,” said Sara, trying to disperse the cloud of tension around them. She reached over and took the mountain of ice cream and sprinkles from May. “I’d rather take a threat with a side of ice cream than one without.”

The others agreed and dropped the client from the conversation. It was still in the back of Damon’s mind, but for now, he allowed himself to forget about it. Mostly.

He handed the pizza to Tors and took the cake from May. There was a moment of exchanging glances before the three of them began to eat.

As soon as he tasted the cake, he knew he was right. It was delicious, perfect in every way. And Damon knew there was only one place to get cake like that: that tiny cafe down the road from his house. The client knew exactly where he lived.

Damon pushed this thought to the back of his head. However similar ambrosia tasted, it simply didn’t compare to the real deal. As he ate, he tasted home. He tasted comfort. He tasted really, _really_ good cake.

Of course, even Damon knew he couldn’t finish it himself. A few minutes later, Tors agreed that his cake was excellent, and Damon learned that pizza and chocolate cake tasted weirdly good together.

“You want any?” he offered the cake to Sara. She had refused Tors’ pizza and was instead wolfing down her sundae.

“A tiny bit,” she said reluctantly. “Just to taste it. But I should hold off on eating too much- I shouldn’t really be eating this sundae. I expected I’ll see it again pretty soon, over in the bathroom.”

“But worth it?” he asked, handing her a small corner of cake.

“For this?” she said, taking another bite of sundae. “Absolutely.”

Damon turned to May, who was eating strangely privately. She used the open flap from the picnic basket to hide her face as she ate so that Damon couldn’t see what it was she had been sent.

“May?” he asked, uncertain. May looked up, stuffed the rest of her food into her mouth, and closed the picnic basket. What looked like tomato juice was dribbling down her chin. She swallowed, then blushed a little.

“Sorry,” she said. “Uh, guilty pleasure.” Damon knew she was lying, but it didn’t matter to him.

“It’s cool. I mean, it’s your business. I just wondered if you wanted some cake- best in the world.”

“Thanks,” said May, grinning and wiping her face on her sleeve, before taking the chunk of cake Damon was offering. “You’re right, you know.”

“About what?”

“The message. Your cake, it’s from the cafe, isn’t it?” Damon nodded.

“He knows where I live.”

“Me too,” said May. “And that is… troubling.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s like your cake. There’s only one place in the world he could’ve found my… uh, there’s only one place in the world he could’ve found it.”

To avoid speaking further, May shoved the cake into her mouth, dropping crumbs everywhere. Her eyes widened, and she gave a muffled 'HMHHGMGM' of enthusiasm at the taste.

“Told you,” said Damon, grinning. “Best in the world.”

It took a good while for them to finish their food, but finish it they did. Eventually, they all sat stuffed, with crumbs and chocolate and ice cream on their cheeks. Food had never tasted so good, and being full had never felt better.

“There’s… something else?” said May in surprise, looking at the basket. Damon saw it too- something in the basket was glinting in the sun that was streaming in through the windows. May reached down and pulled out a large glass bottle of spiced apple cider and four champagne flutes.

“That stuff’s not alcoholic, is it? Alcohol doesn’t react very well with my CFS.”

“No,” said May, reading the label. “Looks good though.”

Sara giggled slightly, perhaps due to being so tired, and May handed Damon the flutes. He held them as steady as he could while May poured, only spilling most of it onto the floor. Then, as May returned the now empty bottle to the basket, he handed out the four glasses, filled with honey-colored liquid.

The others took it, raising them in a silent toast to each other before putting them to their lips. Though they didn’t speak, Damon could tell Tors and Sara were thinking exactly the same thing. About how this was it. Success, and therefore death. Damon’s time was about to run out. 

Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them away. Before the cider reached his tongue, he whispered into his glass so quietly that no one else could hear it. May still didn’t know, but Tors and Sara did. They knew what they were toasting to.

“ _The last hurrah_.”

* * *

Damon woke up. That was a problem because it meant he had fallen asleep. He scrambled up, looking around at… grass? He wasn’t on the train, that was for sure. 

“Sleeping potion,” said a voice behind him, making him jump. But it was only May, standing beside the still unconscious Sara and Tors.

“The cider? So that picnic basket _was_ dangerous?!” hissed Damon. Trisheros was really starting to get on his nerves, as was this other ‘client’ guy.

“No. It was another gift, look.” Damon followed her gaze and was shocked to see a painted sign reading ‘Delphi Strawberry Field & Vineyard’ in front of a network of hills.

“He… he sent us back?”

“Saved us an hour or so of traveling,” said May, shrugging. “Probably just wanted to make a point.”

“He didn’t save us time,” said Damon bitterly. It had been morning, maybe midday on the train. Now, he could see the sun beginning to set. “He slowed us down.” May looked at the sun, seemingly surprised, before turning back to Damon.

“Another statement. Whoever this client is, he’s powerful.”

“He slowed us down. He’s saying he’s not on our side.” Questions began to swarm in Damon’s head, but he pushed them aside. They had a quest to complete.

As Damon felt his back pocket to make sure the drawstring pouch was still there (which it was), Sara and Tors began to stir. Or rather, Tors began to stir, and his shouting woke Sara.

“Bad gift! BAD GIFT! Why the NOT control?! HEAD ME!”

“Whg-whaa?” without getting up, Sara took off her bracelet and pointed it at the sky as if challenging it to a duel. Damon would’ve laughed, but Sara didn’t exactly look in the best of shape. She was even greener than on the train, and as Damon helped her to her feet, she looked at him through unstable eyes.

“Just, uh, give me a moment,” she said, before stumbling over to a clear patch of grass and vomiting.

 

It took a few minutes for Sara to understand. Her voice was strained, and her mind seemed sluggish, but eventually, she nodded and let May support her while Tors let Damon guide him. As a team, the four demigods began to walk, the dread of what success meant beginning to pump through Damon like _Keres_ venom.

When the trio finally made it over half-blood hill and back into camp, Chiron was the first to greet them. He had been gazing over the strawberry fields, and his head flicked towards them at the sound of their approach. More than anything, he appeared to be relieved that they survived. Then he frowned slightly, realizing there was a fourth member to their party. 

“It’s not over,” said Damon before Chiron could speak. “But we have this,” Damon dug his fingers into his back pocket and pulled out the pouch, which he showed Chiron. “From Hecate. If we sacrifice it to Hades in the campfire it will restore his power.” 

“And then…?” said Chiron. Damon knew what he was talking about.

“Then Hades keeps his word. Hopefully.”

“He swore on the river Styx?”

“Yes,” said Damon, not technically lying. He heard the others shift uncomfortably behind him.

“And who is your new member?”

“Maylis,” said May, looking strangely meaningfully at Chiron. “Daughter of Ceres, hailing from Camp Jupiter.”

“May helped us on the quest,” said Sara, sounding like she was going to vomit again, pass out, or both. “We wouldn’t be here without her.”

“Then I thank you, child.”

“We should get to the bonfire,” said Damon. “The sooner we burn this the better.”

Chiron nodded gravely and the four of them followed him all the way back to the center of camp. The strawberry fields, the cabins- it all looked so familiar. He’d been hurt so much last time he was here. An odd feeling ran through him- it felt like the camp was haunted, and he was the ghost.

When they reached the campfire, they found the entire camp sitting around it. This shouldn’t have surprised Damon, seeing as they’d slept until sunset, but the sound of them singing songs felt so alien, so _normal_. 

Damon saw heads turn towards them at the sight of their approach. A cheer sprouted, but Chiron halted it by holding up his hand.

“The quest has not yet been completed,” he said, much to the confusion of the campers. He looked at Damon, who stepped forwards and held up the poultice.

“This is from Hecate. When we burn it, it will restore Hades’ power.” _For now,_ said the voice in his head. For some reason, neither Hecate nor Hades expected this to be a permanent fix. But Damon decided to leave that part out. “You, uh, you might wanna stand back.” 

The campers just stared at him, unmoving, as though this was a stupid idea. Damon felt Tors approach and whisper gently into his ear.

“Are you sure?” Damon nodded. “I’ll miss you.”

This almost made Damon cry again but he managed to hold it inside himself. However, when Sara gave his hand a weak squeeze, he couldn’t help but let a single tear fall.

“Bye.”

With a final, resolute air, Damon stepped forwards and dropped the pouch into the golden flames.

“For Hades, Lord of the Dead.”

At once, the flames turned acid purple, and the earth began to growl. The flames contorted and hissed, and a gaunt and terrifying figure stepped out.

It was Hades in all his glory. If he had seemed fearsome before, it was nothing to what he was now. His skin was so white it glowed, his eyes were now open and shone deadly black with the gleam of a genius or a madman, and, despite having appeared in the size of a human, he was twice as dizzying to look at as he had been in the Underworld.

“Hello again, hero.”

“You swore,” said Damon, trying to stand his ground. “You swore you would release him.”

“And I am a god of my word.” Hades snapped his fingers, and the flames sputtered again. “I have released him.”

“Dad!” Damon tried to move, but felt an invisible force chain him to the ground.

“Alive, as promised. But I didn’t promise to reunite you.”

Damon nodded, resolute and broken. He’d thought about death for so long, but now it was finally here he felt less prepared than he had in his short life. He was so alone, so naked, and so scared. 

“Damon?” said Chiron sharply. Damon turned to look at him.

“It was my dad or me. I could save one, not both.”

“Child, you-”

“Silence,” said Hades venomously, and Chiron stopped at once.

“Please,” said Damon, his voice weak and trembling. “Before you kill me, please tell me. Why do you wish me dead so much? What did I do?”

Hades’ eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. Damon stood, broken and still, as Hades raised his hand and shot a beacon of deadly black light towards his heart. Unable to stop himself, Damon closed his eyes.

“Enough,” said a voice, powerful and beautiful and commanding. Damon opened his eyes and nearly collapsed in surprise to see May standing between him and Hades, somehow- _impossibly_ \- blocking the light from reaching him.

Hades’ eyes widened, then narrowed. He was as angry as before, but something resembling hesitance crept behind his deadly eyes.

“Wh- how?” said Damon, hearing the same questions bounce around the crowd of campers behind him. No demigod could take on a god like this.

The obvious answer clicked in Damon's brain. May wasn’t a demigod.

As soon as the thought reached him, May changed. She grew, sprouting from the earth until she was just as tall as Hades. Her black hair lengthened and began to shine and, even from behind, she became breathtakingly, indescribably beautiful. When she turned to face him, the sight of her face was so entrancing it made Damon ache.

“Enough, husband.”

“H-husband?” Damon breathed in shock.

“I am sorry to deceive you, but it was the only way I could keep you safe.”

“You’re Persephone,” said Sara, her voice straining with exhaustion and shock. The goddess nodded.

“This child has done nothing to offend you.”

“The fact that this child exists is mortal insult,” said Hades icily.

“And yet he is still a child. Anger, jealousy have poisoned your mind. Allow him at least the explanation.”

Hades’ nostrils flared, but he nodded tersely all the same. Persephone then walked to two of the campers sitting around the fire and waved at them to move, which they did instantly. Then, she sat down as normally as any camper and looked at Damon, who took this as an invitation (though not the kind he could refuse) and approached her, terrified, before sitting next to her.

“This is not going to be painless,” she said, gazing into the flames.

“Dying?” Damon heard his voice croak.

“No,” said Persephone with a sad smile. “My husband is not going to kill you.”

Damon heard Hades exhale like a bull, readying to charge.

“He is already fated to suffer more torture than you could devise.”

“A fate tied to your own mistakes. You have broken too many ancient vows.

“Let him live. He has restored your power, he saved you from your weakest. I do not expect you to like him, but I know you. You are fairer, kinder than I think even you understand.”

Something in Hades’ expression changed- softened almost. For a split second, he looked almost human. There seemed to be a long and silent conversation of the kind that could only happen between gods. Or, maybe, only between lovers.

“Perhaps this is between us,” he said, still cold and venomous, but there was an undeniable love for Persephone behind those icy eyes.

“You show more wisdom than your brothers,” said Persephone. “Leave us?” It wasn’t a command, it was a gentle request, made from a wife to her husband. Hades looked at her, then Damon, and finally melted back into the flames, which turned gold once more.

As he disappeared, another hit of worry for his father raced across his mind.

“Unconscious,” said Persephone, as if reading his mind, “but uninjured. He needs only to rest.” Damon looked at Persephone. “You have questions,” she said before he could speak. “I know. But some of them you already know the answer to.”

“What do you mean?” said Damon, but before Persephone could answer, Damon felt an intense and agonizing pain shake his whole body, and he collapsed onto the ground in front of him. It felt like one of his episodes- but worse, a thousand times worse. When the pain abated, Damon was left with tears running silently down his face, which he hastened to wipe away. As he returned to his seat, he saw the entire camp stare at him, Tom’s face more distinct than the rest.

“It’s starting,” said Persephone. Her voice was gentle, and that small, sad smile ghosted her face once more. She sighed, then began to explain.

 

“You have suppressed your powers since you were a child. You have suppressed them more completely and deeply than perhaps any demigod before you, so much so that you have almost no trace of ichor in your veins. It is why you cannot read ancient Greek, why you have such weak battle reflexes. But it wasn’t always this way, was it?” 

“I don’t under-” the pain was back, but this time it was ice cold, as though tiny ice shards were ripping him apart from the inside.

“Your mother- your godly mother- knew that Hades would hunt you. With Hecate’s help, she cast a spell on you, suppressing your powers so that you might be safe from him.”

“My mother- you know her?”

“Yes,” said Persephone, sighing again. “Your mother’s spell worked well enough to hide you, but she knew that, without powers, you would be vulnerable. Thus, the spell allowed you to use your powers when you needed them most. What your mother didn’t anticipate, was that you would suppress your powers as well. Your suppression, combined with her spell, forced your powers into the tiniest, darkest corner of your soul. As if you had locked it away in a steel cage. As you grew older, you grew in strength, and your power became too much for the cage. Like air pressure, pounding against the inside of your mind with more strength than you can fathom. Do you know why your mother has yet to claim you?”

“To protect me from Hades?” said Damon, though now that he said it he was less sure.

“Not entirely. Once Hades discovered your heritage, that alone would not hide you from him. Your mother didn’t claim you because claiming you would unlock the cage, and all that power would escape like Father’s master bolt, an explosion within you. Your mother wanted to spare you that pain.”

“But…?” said Damon, sensing there was more to the story.

“But the cage is already starting to unlock. You know too much.”

“But I still don’t know who my mother is!” said Damon. He was suddenly standing, angry and confused and desperate, staring at Persephone. Instead of speaking, Persephone simply sighed again and fixed her achingly beautiful eyes on him. Suddenly, there was a rustle of voices from the campers. Damon turned to look and saw them all staring at him. Or rather, staring at something above his head.

He looked up. Above his head was a strange, glowing hologram, red and deep as a ruby: a pomegranate.

Damon looked at Persephone, understanding breaking over him like a tidal wave.

“You.”

Damon heard the campers move. The seated ones bowed their heads, while those that stood knelt respectfully towards him.

“Goddess of the spring and Queen of the dead,” said Chiron gravely. “Hail, Damon Courtes, Son of Persephone.”

And then there was nothing but pain.


	17. What Happened to Damon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of vomit, blood, mild gore (but nothing tasteless)

Damon was walking home from school. 

He was alone. 

Where was mom? Wasn’t she supposed to pick him up?

He kept walking, trying not to get lost on all these identical streets. 

He was scared. Why was he scared?

Damon looked behind him. There was a man in the distance, following him.

He was getting closer, closer…

He was almost right behind Damon.

There was nowhere to run. Damon was at the end of a narrow alleyway.

“Why are you following me, Sir?” asked Damon.

The man just looked at him. His eyes were narrow, almost… hungry.

Damon was scared. The man got closer. His eyes got hungrier.

Damon backed up to the wall, starting to cry with the deep and primal fear all children felt for the monster beneath their bed.

“Please…” said Damon, desperate. Alone. The man put a rough and dangerous hand on his arm, and Damon began to struggle. The man held him tighter. Damon began to scream.

Then, suddenly, the man let go. Damon backed up as far as he could and stared, amazed by the two vines that had snaked from the ground and twisted themselves over the man’s shoes, holding him in place.

Damon knew, he could feel it. He made those vines grow. 

Damon, so terrified and so alone, made more vines appear from the earth, cracking the pavement as they sprouted through it. Some weren’t even vines, but long, thick roses that snaked around the man’s legs and held him fast.

The man tried to pull them off, but they kept coming, slithering around him like a thorny prison. Soon, Damon had covered his entire body in snaking plants, paralyzing him. But Damon couldn’t stop them.

One plant, a long and sharply thorned stem, reared like a cobra before striking, slithering  _ inside _ the man’s leg.

The man’s eyes widened. More of the vines and stems did the same, forcing their way through his skin with thorns or brute force. Damon could feel them. Once inside, the plants didn’t stop.

The small cracks in the earth began to widen, creating one small, singular split, a tiny chasm in the pavement.

The plants were still snaking, still forcing their way through his body. They pierced organ after organ, some sprouting from his skin and growing flowers as if the man himself was in bloom.

The man screamed.

He screamed and screamed and screamed as these plants ran through his blood, ever higher, reaching his torso. A carpet of daisies sprouted from his chest like a breastplate. Two marigolds grew like shoulder pads. Soon, all the plants had sprouted through his skin, blood trickling from every puncture.

All plants except two.

Damon could feel them; two rose stems, thorny and agonizing, were still snaking through the man’s body. They slid up, up, higher than the other plants. When they entered his neck, the man stopped screaming, but his face remained contorted in agony. They must’ve torn through his vocal chords.

Damon wanted it to stop, but he didn’t know how. He knew what was coming. However much he wanted to, Damon couldn’t make himself look away.

The stems reached their targets and two gorgeous roses bloomed forth. 

One from each eye.

Damon screamed.

But it wasn’t over. The plants began to shake, pulling down on the man, still visibly trying to writhe in agony but constrained by the plants imprisoning him.

The crack in the earth began to widen, forming the mouth of a large chasm that divided the pavement in two.

Slowly, the plants dragged the man-  _ Damon _ dragged the twitching, convulsing man down into the chasm, his blind eyes hidden behind blooms that stared at Damon as they were pulled beneath the ground. 

The man was gone.

Damon opened his eyes. He could see the campfire again. He looked up. Tors and Sara were both knelt in front of him, staring at him. Chiron was behind them, and the other campers had congregated behind him. All of them were staring.

“We… we saw. We saw it with you,” said Sara with tears in her eyes. “Everyone saw.”

Then Damon, terrifyingly conscious, felt more pain than he had ever felt in his life. More than ever, he just wanted to die, to end it all. He heard himself scream, felt himself shake with sobs. He could hear everything around him every whisper in the distant trees, every murmur in the crowd of campers, every scuttle of insect feet.

He was crying again. In front of everyone. 

Pathetic, crybaby queer.

The pain was so intense that, despite his open, eyes Damon couldn’t see more than an inch in front of him. He felt himself vomit and heard noises of disgust from the crowd, mixed with the hint of laughter here or there.

He started to cry harder. Tears streamed down his face like a thunderstorm. The pain faded in his lower body but became a hundred times as intense at the back of his head. It felt as though something was inside his brain, clawing its way out with dirty tooth and filthier nail. The pain, sharp and specific and  _ impossibly _ powerful, moved forward. Now it felt like it was at the front of his brain, then behind his eyes, then  _ inside _ his eyes. Damon could feel them coming out.

And they did. Two tears, calcified and huge and solid, forced their way from underneath his eyeballs. They were as hard as diamond, and Damon felt his eyeballs pushed upwards, almost punctured as they were shoved out of the way. He could see inside his skull.

Then, the tears were on the outside, and the pain they had caused faded. The pair began slowly sliding down his cheeks. When they hit the ground, Damon realized what they were.

Pomegranate seeds.

There was a small movement in front of them. Someone had walked from the crowd and knelt in front of him. Damon vaguely recognized her: someone from Aphrodite’s cabin. They were holding something: a small, portable makeup mirror. Damon stared at his reflection in it, unsure if what he was seeing could be real.

The seeds he had cried had left long, blood red tear tracks on his face, thick and scarlet like unsettling clown facepaint, reaching from his eyes to his chin. Damon touched one gently with his finger. It was dry. Somehow, Damon knew that they would never wash off. 

Damon knew that he would die with them.

He staggered to his feet. He could feel it coming- an episode like no other. He stumbled, half blind, through the crowd of campers. Some of them followed him as he dragged himself towards the edge of camp, somewhere he knew he wouldn’t cause any damage. Beyond the climbing wall, near the border of camp, the ground was flat and clear, with nothing near him but the campers following from a nervous distance. Damon fell to his knees once more and released.

He didn’t know much. All he knew was that he was shaking and writhing on the ground. He was vomiting too, the pain was too intense to avoid it. He was weak and vulnerable and disgusting and he felt the campers’ eyes bore into him.

Then, just like they had in the forest, plants started to race from the ground, twisting and knotting and cracking the earth as they sprouted from it. Some bloomed, huge and gorgeous flowers. Others wrapped themselves around the nearest stem and squeezed, strangling it until it collapsed to the ground. When the pain finally,  _ finally _ stopped, Damon could see what looked like a bombsite- plants swirling around him like shrapnel frozen in time, with him at the center of the blast.

But it wasn’t over. It was never over. Damon still held on tight, refusing to let that cage in his mind open. Refusing. He knew the damage he could do.

He heard someone approach him from behind, picking their way through the tangle of stems. The motion sounded clumsy- as if whoever it was couldn’t really see what they were doing. They knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his. Ash looked up. It was Tors.

“You’re afraid of yourself,” he said, his simple honesty more powerful than what anyone else could say.

“I promised,” said Damon with a hoarse and painful voice. “I promised I would never use my powers again. What if, what if I hurt someone? What I did to that man… What if I did that to the people I loved? What if, what if-” 

“You were a child. A scared and lonely child.”

“That man, I never found out what he was going to do, I never knew his name, I-”

“You terrify yourself. You pushed that part of you so far down it became a poison in your brain. An explosive, a countdown. But it’s still a part of you. It doesn’t make you a monster. Nothing does. You are beautiful and kind and stronger than you can imagine. You can’t hide from yourself forever, and you don’t need to. I promise you won’t become a monster. You won’t become a murderer.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because I know what it is to fear yourself. I know what it is to have something so dangerous inside of you. I know what it is to lose control. I know what it is to be a freak. And…” he said. Despite his blindness, he looked more deeply into Damon’s eyes than he ever had before. “And I know you.”

Damon was crying again. He wiped the tears away and noticed on his hand that they were red. As if he was crying blood.

“You can accept yourself now, Damon. You can.”

Damon looked into those staring eyes and, finally, nodded. Something warm and chocolaty began to spread through his body. His blood felt electric, his mind felt clear. He could feel the ichor finally running through his blood, he could feel himself staring out through eyes that were seeing clearly for the first time, he could even feel the plants and the earth and the flowers and the soil and everything around him. 

He was still terrified of what he was doing, but he allowed himself to reach out to the earth. There, a small red flower began to bloom, beautiful and real and so alive: a hyacinth. Damon reached out and picked it gently from the ground, then pressed it into Tors’ hand, who took it softly from him. A smile, foreign on Tors’ face, spread from each cheek, and Damon felt himself smile too.

Then he fell unconscious again, and his mind grew so deeply dark that he didn’t even dream.


	18. Answers

The next thing Damon knew, he was lying down in the infirmary- the Big House- once again. He sat up, his head and eyes still burning. Weak sunlight streamed through the windows, and he guessed it was morning, though he couldn’t really be sure. He’s spent a lot of time asleep recently; it was starting to mess with his head.

Looking around, he noticed he was alone. An empty glass that had probably contained nectar rested beside his bed, and he saw he wore a new pair of jeans and a new orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt, which relieved him. His old clothes were probably more rips and holes than cloth at this point. He caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror and saw that the thick red tear streaks were still there.

He stood up, ignoring the lingering wooziness, and walked out of the Big House to find Mr. D and Chiron playing pinochle. Chiron looked up as he approached, but Damon wasn’t surprised when Mr. D remained focused on the cards.

“Huzzah,” said Mr. D without enthusiasm. “You’ve survived, I suppose.”

“Mr. D,” said Chiron. “The letter?”

“Mm?” said Mr. D, examining the cards in his hand. Chiron gave him a complicated look. “Oh, fine, _fine_.” He waves his hand, and the air before Damon rippled. A small envelope appeared there, and Damon caught it before it fell to the ground. It was unmarked, already torn open, and was a rich black color, like the coffee Damon’s mom had during extra shifts.

“I think we both know I have been less than transparent with you, Damon,” said Chiron. “But I hope this will explain why.”

Damon made to open the envelope, but Mr. D gave a loud sigh. Damon saw his eyes give a very exaggerated roll.

“Not here, Damien. Open it somewhere you won’t be a distraction, will you?”

Damon bit his tongue and hurried off towards the canoe lake. He sat in the same spot as when he and Percy had fought the second cerastes. That seemed so long ago, Damon was hardly sure it had ever happened. He sat in the early morning sun, which glinted delicately off the lake, and slid the letter out from the black envelope.

The paper was a dramatic (but still gentle) red and the words were a delicate black print. They were typed- did that mean gods had computers? It didn’t seem very ancient Greece, but then again Dionysus was playing pinochle and answered to Mr. D. Apparently the gods had got with the times.

 

“ _Dear Chiron,_

_There is a Half-Blood living in New Jersey that your satyrs will never be able to find. He studies at Greene High, a school of which I doubt you have ever heard. But I fear monsters have discovered him, monsters old enough that they have found what little scent he has. He is my son, and I have done what I can to protect him, but I have overstepped. I am sure you know the consequences gods can have when they interfere. Please, this demigod is in more danger than he could imagine. I implore you to send a half-blood to find him and bring him to camp as soon as is possible. I will grant whomever you send safe passage, I can promise that much. I know what you will think of me, that you will question my truthfulness, and I hope Hermes can assure you otherwise when he delivers this. In which case, I am sure you will see me as I see myself: a fool. No god should interfere with mortal affairs as much as I have my son’s, which is why I ask you to take him to safety. Train him, so that he may prepare for the consequences of my mistakes. Upon arrival, send him to the armory for a weapon. There, I will grant him a gift that will aid in his protection._

_I know your wisdom, Chiron. I trust you will make the right decision._

_Thank you._

_P.S. Knowledge of this letter will only endanger my son further. The more he knows, the more I fear what will become of him. Please, tell him as little as you can. But keep him safe. This is a lot to ask, I know, but know that I ask it on the love of a mother for her son.”_

 

It felt… a lot. Here was evidence that Persephone loved him, and yet he’d decided he didn’t need it. He was a complete person already. His family was whole. But this letter made it seem like she’d risked more than Damon knew to keep him safe. That, he couldn’t shake.

Then, he remembered what he’d said about her to the _Ker_ on top of that moving train, and his guts twisted to think she’d been in the carriage below the whole time.

“Athena advised me not to blame you.” Damon nearly jumped out of his skin. Next to him, May had appeared. Or rather, he shook himself, _Persephone_ had appeared. “Many heroes harbor some similar… resentment towards their godly parent. However,” her voice became a little sharper. “I was in disguise at the time. In future, perhaps don’t insult me so vocally.” She was still the same beautiful goddess, but she was weaponizing her beauty. She was still gentle, but danger underpinned her voice.

“I didn’t know,” he said. Persephone was making it clear that, though she was forgiving, it would be a bad idea for Damon to push her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how much you’d done for me.”

“And if you knew a little more than you do, you might hate me for it.”

“What? How?”

“Gods should never interfere as I have done. _Especially_ not regarding their children. My actions have broken too many ancient laws. I will be punished, of course, but you are mortal. You will suffer greatly for my mistakes. The more I try to help, the worse I make things.”

“Being a god doesn’t really sound too fun.”

“It has its drawbacks,” Persephone admitted. “But being a hero... the pain in your life…”

“Yeah,” said Damon, absentmindedly touching the red scars on his cheeks. “That wasn’t fun, either.”

“Sometimes, I wish I could know as little as mortals do. The pain you experienced yesterday, that was only the very beginning of what you will suffer. The consequences may be vague now, but in time they will become clear. You see, this is why you might hate me if you know the fate I have brought upon you.”

“You were trying to help,” said Damon, trying not to think about how that kind of pain could be the beginning of anything.

“You’re like your father,” she laughed, and for a moment Damon was so entranced by her beauty that none of his muscles seemed to work. “Perhaps one day you will see how I could not resist him. Gods can be so weak-willed. Even my husband, he…”

“Nico di Angelo?” Damon guessed. Persephone nodded.

“He is an artifact of Hades’ unfaithfulness, just as you are an artifact of mine.” Something about the word ‘artifact’ stirred Damon’s memory, but he pushed it aside. “You cannot expect my husband to like you, just as Nico and I have, one might say, a less-than-perfect relationship.”

“ _Less-than-perfect_?” Damon almost gave a dark laugh. “Hades kidnapped my father! He tried to kill me! Like, a lot!”

“Do not judge him too harshly. The loss of his power was a great humiliation for him. The eldest of his brothers, barely able to run his own kingdom. You cannot blame him for lashing out.”

To Damon, ‘lashing out’ might mean shouting and slammed doors, but apparently everything gods did was scaled up.

“Hades doesn’t hate you,” Persephone continued. “But an artifact of my unfaithfulness is not something you can expect him to adore. I have talked to him, and he has agreed to tolerate you as I tolerate Nico. He is a kind god, at heart. A fair god. Fairer than fate, anyway.” A shadow crossed her beautiful face, and Damon got the sense she had the same distaste for the Fates as Damon. “I must be going,” she said, standing up. Damon did the same. “I cannot delay facing Father forever.”

“Zeus?”

“Indeed. Whatever punishment he decides, I know it will be fair enough. But you have a choice to make, Damon. Your Cabin.”

“My… Cabin?” There was no Persephone Cabin at Camp Half-Blood. Not that there should be- Damon was a mistake, a chance happening. He’d assumed he’d be staying in Cabin 11, but apparently, Persephone had other ideas.

“During your time here, you may stay in one of two Cabins- Cabin 4, of my mother, Demeter, or Cabin 13, of my husband, Hades.”

“Hades?” asked Damon in disbelief. He felt sure that was asking for trouble, but Persephone merely smiled.

“As I said, he is a fair god. He will allow you to stay in his Cabin for as long as you need. My mother has agreed to the same, though of course, that is less surprising. Her reaction when I told her I had a son…” Persephone shivered. “Perhaps that will be Zeus’ punishment: to lock me in a room with my mother, so that she can talk all about how I’ve made her a grandmother for the next few centuries.” Damon couldn’t help but smile, and Persephone returned it, though hers was more complicated than his. “So, Cabin 4 or Cabin 13? Demeter or Hades? Which do you choose?”

Damon pondered the question. To most, Cabin 4 would be the natural answer. Who wanted to live in the obsidian walls of the Death God’s cabin instead of among people who could grow flowers with their minds? Plus, there was Sara.

But as much as Damon loved Sara, he needed space. Nico was maybe unusual, but next to Tors he was a downright comedian- well, that might be a _bit_ of an exaggeration but still, with him, he would have some semblance of peace, of privacy. And besides, there was an undeniable connection between Nico and him that he couldn’t quite place, but that he trusted. The Demeter cabin wasn’t exactly under crowded, and the idea of living with so many people, all of whom, now that he thought about it, were kind of his aunts…

“Cabin 13. I want to live with Nico.”

Persephone smiled. She didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

“Then you should never doubt that you are my son. If you remember the story, I chose to live with Hades as his Queen. It seems you have made the same choice. But,” she said, more to herself. “My mother and husband will not be overjoyed at your decision. Neither had any doubt you would choose Cabin 4.”

“The Pomegranate!” Damon exclaimed. Persephone had reminded him of the myth, and suddenly so much made sense “The food that Trisheros brought you… it was a pomegranate, wasn’t it?”

“Very observant,” said Persephone smiling.

“Not that observant,” said Damon. “I thought it was a tomato.”

“No,” said Persephone with a sly grin. “Perhaps that is a fair assessment. After all, you did miss some fairly obvious signs.”

Persephone looked at him expectantly, and Damon realized he was being tested. Of course, he _had_ noticed a lot of things were off about May, but since at the time he seemed to be almost dying a lot, he did have kind of a lot to think about.

“The _Keres_ venom,” he said, pulling the inconsistency that had bugged him most from his head. “Only a god can heal it. You healed it, therefore…”

“Therefore I am a god posing as a demigod,” her face wasn’t easy to read, but at least she smiled. “You got there eventually.”

“And this,” said Damon quickly, pulling his knife out from his pocket and examining it. “You sent this, didn’t you?”

“Imbued with the power of a travel rose. Have you used it in combat since yesterday?”

“No,” said Damon. “Why?”

“The power of a travel rose can be used only once, but this particular blade has more than one secret. Now that your powers are no longer suppressed, I expect you might discover them.”

“Thanks,” he said, looking at the blade before slipping it back into his pocket.

“I helped you rather a lot on this quest. Soon enough, I am sure you will be less than thankful for it. Direct interference- it only adds to the laws I’ve broken. But for now, perhaps, you can be happy. Whatever ill the future brings, whatever consequences, these past few days have been fun. And as a god, fun is a very rare opportunity.”

She smiled, her face glowing with what looked like liquid beauty. Damon smiled back, and after a few seconds, she began to glow- literally, this time. As in, with light. Learning from his experience in the woods, he looked away quickly and felt Persephone’s divine form bake the already hot summer air with its intensity before disappearing, leaving Damon alone, looking out over the canoe lake and wondering how Nico di Angelo would react to the news that he had a roommate.

* * *

The inside of the Hades Cabin was just as dark as the outside. The beds were coffin-shaped, framed with coffee colored wood, and the sheets were a vivid pomegranate red. There was a shrine at the back, made of bones and jewels, which glittered in the light of the torches that lined the walls. Most people would have called it dismal as an understatement- Sara certainly would have- but Damon couldn’t help but see the beauty in the shimmering jewels, or the rich mahogany frames, or the vivid red bed sheets that seemed to warm him just by looking at them. Perhaps that was the Persephone in him, but his father was also one to find beauty in unexpected places.

However, Damon couldn’t say he liked all of it. The coffin-shaped beds, for example, were kind of morbid. Damon wondered if even Nico liked that design choice- perhaps Damon would be able to do some redecorating. But the darkness, the green torches, gave a sense of warmth, of self. There were no secrets here, there was no ambiguity or prophecy. Damon wouldn’t have liked to spend all day here, but at night the darkness and seemed like they’d be comforting. The obsidian walls a haven from the world, a peaceful place without the noise of life in which you could, Damon suspected, achieve a sleep as deep as in the Hypnos Cabin.

On one side, a sword made of chilling black iron rested against the wooden bed frame. Damon guessed that this side belonged to Nico, so he set his things- what little he had- on the other side, before approaching the shrine.

“Uh, thanks, Lord Hades,” he said awkwardly. “For, like, not killing me. And releasing my dad and letting me use your cabin and stuff.”

The shrine didn’t respond. Damon hadn’t expected an answer. As a child, Damon had had more than one experience with a less-than-perfect step-parent relationship. Having the Lord of the Dead as a stepfather didn’t seem too different. Damon never expected Hades to like him, but like, seeing as he could (very easily and without warning) kill him, Damon was grateful for how much he had done. For example: not killing him.

Next, there was something he wanted to do. He was curious what kind of power his knife would have, and there was a very specific way he wanted to find out.

Waiting outside the Combat Arena, Damon had a perfect view of what was happening. At the moment, Percy was teaching sword fighting. He was even better than Tom, and even then Damon doubted he was going all out. Within seconds, he had reduced his dummy to a shapeless mound and began walking around the others, inspecting their work. Here or there, he would make a correction to his student’s technique before walking off.

Eventually, the class dispersed. A few- Percy among them- remained to practise further technique, but they did so around the edges of the Arena, giving space to the next sword fighting class. Damon clenched his fists.

The person leading the class was Tom.

But Damon continued to wait. He watched Tom teach. Unlike Percy, Tom devoted a lot of his time to ridiculing the least skilled fighters, before he walked up to a dummy and dismembered it as an example. Damon forgot how long he stood there, completely still, but at last Tom’s class dispersed, and Damon took his chance.

The arena wasn’t empty, but it was as close to it as it was probably going to get. Only Tom and a few other stragglers remained, all hacking at dummies. Damon approached, and with every step, anger began to boil in his ears.

“Hey, Tom.” Tom whirled around, raising his sword, but Damon had anticipated this. He caught the blow, blocking it with the hilt of his knife.

“What do you want?” Tom’s eyes were calculating, his voice sharp, but Damon knew he was nervous. He had seen what Damon was capable of.

“A rematch,” said Damon simply. Tom looked a little relieved, knowing that he was the superior swordsman. He was right, of course. Damon just hoped Persephone wasn’t exaggerating when she talked about his knife.

“You’re on.” The two of them started to circle each other like vultures, their swords at the ready. Damon waited for Tom to make the first move, but he looked hesitant. The anger was still coursing through Damon’s body, and with every passing second, it seemed to double. He felt like he had facing the _Ker_ on the roof of that train: like his eyes held the handles of venom-tipped daggers that were pointed at Tom, who suddenly looked a little more than nervous. Electricity crackled inside of Damon, and his fingers gripped tightly around his knife's handle.

“What’s wrong?” asked Damon. His voice was louder than he meant, and he noticed many of the stragglers around the edge of the arena turn their attention on the duel happening in front of them. “Scared?”

Tom didn’t meet Damon’s eye and instantly lashed out, his eyes darting over Damon’s body, searching for potential weak spots. Damon raised his dagger and tried to block, but Tom had been expecting that. His sword danced around the tip of Damon’s dagger, out of its minuscule reach.

It all happened so fast, Damon could barely see it. He felt it more than anything- the blue fabric wrapped around his knife’s handle twisted from his grasp, wrapping around his forearm like a bandage. Tom had tried to dart around Damon’s block, but unfortunately for him, Damon’s dagger was no longer a dagger.

It was a sword, single-handed and double-edged, made of the same chilling black metal as the one that rested against Nico’s bed in the Hades cabin, and etched into it was an ornate rose, its stem stretching from hilt to tip.

“Wha-” Tom blinked in surprise, and Damon pressed his advantage. He pushed back, and Tom backed away to prepare another attack. Suddenly, the anger in Damon’s body wasn’t just anger. It was desperation and sadness and rage and a hundred things. He felt the emotion become too much, and tears stung his eyes, leaking out and trickling down his cheeks.

But for some reason, Tom didn’t jeer. He didn’t venture a single insult, and Damon didn’t understand why. However the quest had changed him, he was still the crybaby. Perhaps that would never change. But when Damon wiped away his tears and glanced at his hand, he saw why Tom was, for once, neglecting to call him a crybaby.

He was still crying blood. Maybe, like the thick red tear tracks, this was another scar from yesterday night. Whatever it meant, Tom didn’t seem to find him crying quite so funny anymore. From Damon’s perspective, it wasn’t any different- he was still a crybaby, unable to handle his emotions. But he supposed crying blood did up his intimidation factor if nothing else.

Damon closed in, weaponizing his anger into a single point. As he did, Tom froze, looking inexplicably terrified, but Damon didn’t stop to question it. He pressed forwards, grabbing the hilt of Tom’s sword and wrenching it out of his grasp, sending it clattering to the ground. Somehow, the sword felt less foreign in his hand, and he realized the demigod in him was truly awake. With a strange pull in his stomach, Damon caused two thick plant stems to grow over Tom’s ankles, fastening him in place.

Seeing this, the calculations in Tom’s eyes seemed to fall still. He looked terrified. Perhaps because he had seen what Damon could do with those plants.

“I’m not going to kill you,” said Damon, as calmly as he could manage with tears of blood still streaming down his face. “But I do want something from you.”

“What?” asked Tom, his eyes darting over Damon, looking for an opportunity to escape that didn’t exist.

“You were there, weren’t you? That night after the bonfire. You were one of them.”

“What do you-”

“‘Crybaby queer’,” Damon reminded him, and Tom swallowed.

“I don’t know what you-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Damon hissed. “I know you were there. I only want one thing: names. I want the names of everyone who beat me up that night.”

“I don’t remember-”

“You have until tomorrow,” said Damon flatly, releasing the knot of plants around Tom’s ankles. Tom looked at him, then grabbed his sword and walked out of the arena with as much dignity and confidence as he could muster.

“It’s probably best you didn’t kill him,” said a voice. Damon jumped. The anger and what little confidence it gave him washed out of him, leaving him exhausted. “Though to be honest, I couldn’t exactly blame you.”

It was Percy, who had apparently still been practicing when Damon challenged Tom. He looked complicated, though he was clearly at least a little impressed.

“You want a match?” he said, grinning and leaning on his sword. “I’ll go easy on you.”

“No thanks,” said Damon, stumbling a little.

“Looks like that took it out of you, huh.”

“What do you mean?”

“You remember when you first came to the Athena cabin?” Damon nodded. It was such an embarrassing ordeal, he’d be hard-pressed to forget it.

“What about it?”

“You were doing it then, too.”

“Doing what?”

“It’s something Nico can do, too. Well, his is a little different, but as Hades’ kid he can look pretty scary when he wants to.”

“Is that what I…?”

“Kind of, but yours is more… I dunno. Beautiful? Persephone’s a goddess famous for her beauty, and beauty can be pretty scary sometimes. It looks like you inherited some of that.”

“Oh… thanks,” said Damon, a little embarrassed.

“It’s why I wolf stared you. I opened the door on this kid who looked pretty terrifying, I hope you can understand why I jumped to the defense.” Damon nodded, though it was hard to believe he could scare someone like Percy.

“Thanks for, you know, not… not calling me a crybaby like everyone else.”

“Doesn’t mean you aren’t one,” said Percy. Damon would’ve been hurt, but Percy’s grin was still friendly. “But I can’t deny crying blood looks pretty cool.”

“Thanks,” said Damon again, allowing himself to smile a little. But then, Percy dropped his grin and looked more seriously at Damon.

“Hey, what you said… Tom and the others, did they really do that?” Damon nodded, ashamed to admit it. “And did they really call you…”

“Yep,” said Damon, looking at the ground and fiddling with the fabric that was still wrapped around his forearm.

“Talk to Nico,” said Percy. Whatever Damon had expected him to say, it wasn’t that. Damon wasn’t keen to talk about the experience with anyone, but if he trusted anyone’s advice at Camp, it was Percy’s.

“Ok,” said Damon quietly, managing to pull the blue fabric free. At once, it returned to the sword handle like a tape measure being recalled, and the sword began to shrink back into the tiny dagger Damon had gotten so used to.

“Also,” said Percy as Damon turned to leave. “If you do get those names, maybe don’t show them to Nico. I feel like he might be a bit less… forgiving than you.”


	19. The Prophecy of Eight

Damon didn’t actually see Nico for the rest of the day. Instead of looking for him, Damon figured he’d see him at the Cabin later, so he decided to put himself into his schedule. Fortunately, if there was one thing Camp Half-Blood was good at, it was distractions, and Damon didn’t have much time to worry about telling Nico what Tom and the others had done. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Percy, but talking about it with anyone wasn’t something Damon was keen to do, and even the idea made him nervous. Besides, between archery and ancient Greek, Damon had little time to worry about it. For once, he really threw himself into his activities. Ancient Greek was suddenly starting to make sense in his brain, and the myths and stories seemed to be fitting into the slots in his head where they had always belonged.

Camp Half-Blood was starting to feel like a home, more or less. What Annabeth and Grover taught him about the gods were, he realized for the first time, family stories. The whole issue with gods not having DNA and most demigods not being blood-related made his head spin, but to be honest, Damon was kind of done with the issue of blood altogether. He noticed the stares, people drinking in his unsettling blood red tear tracts, an almost ghoulish disfigurement on his pale skin. And when he noticed them staring, they looked away quickly, as if it was shameful to even see his scars.

When he had free time, he spent it looking for Sara, but it turned out she was sleeping in the Hypnos Cabin.

“She’ll need it, after what she went through,” said a boy answering the door of Cabin 15. He had a gentle face and stocky body, and his breath was warm and buttery. “I’ll wake her up in a week or two.”

So instead, Damon went to Cabin 12. When he knocked, he heard a series of stumbles and crashes, before the door opened and Tors stood facing him.

“Hey,” Damon smiled, but quickly realized Tors couldn’t see him. “It’s Damon.”

“That’s nice,” said Tors gently. Damon wasn’t quite sure what he was referring to.

“So, uh, how are you holding up?”

“Still pretty blind,” said Tors, his eyes turning in the direction of Damon’s voice. “But I can see a little.” Damon saw his left eye seem to focus on him, but his right was still deeply pale and milky.

“Oh, good…” said Damon, not sure what else to say. It was a weird place to be, given that both of them had expected Damon to die yesterday, but Tors didn’t seem phased. From what Damon could read of him- which wasn’t much- he was as glad as Damon was that he hadn’t died. Damon made to leave, and Tors seemed to be able to see his movement.

“Thanks for coming,” he said earnestly. “It makes me happy.” Tors didn’t seem happy, but Damon knew that, even with all the time they’d spent together, he was still sometimes impossible to read.

“No problem,” he said, glad that Tors couldn’t see him blushing slightly. He turned and walked back towards the climbing wall, considering climbing it to pass the time, when he almost walked directly into Nico di Angelo.

“Oh, hi,” said Damon nervously, stepping back. Nico was with a boy who could not have looked more different to him. He had shaggy blonde hair, blue eyes, and an open, athletic build.

“Damon,” said Nico. “Can you come with us?”

“Is- is something wrong?”

“Don’t worry, the counselors are just having a meeting,” said the other boy. “We figured you should probably come. I mean, there’s no Persephone Cabin, but-”

“A-actually,” said Damon. “About that…” The pair looked at him curiously, and Damon fiddled with the end his shirt. “My mother turned up earlier. She said…” Damon decided to leave the part about the choice out, in case Sara heard about it and was hurt. “She told me to stay in Cabin 13.”

Both boys looked very surprise, Nico particularly so.

“Seriously?” he said, unsure. “I doubt my dad will be pleased by that.”

“She said she talked to him. He’s, uh, agreed to tolerate me.” Nico shrugged.

“As long as she tolerates me,” said Nico.

“So you don’t mind?”

“To be honest, it’ll be nice to have the company.” Damon smiled in relief, and Nico smiled a little. The boys turned, walking towards the Big House, and Damon followed them.

“Be careful, though,” said Nico as they walked. “One time I had an argument with Persephone, she turned me into a dandelion.”

“I will be,” Damon agreed, trying not to wonder what Hades might turn him into if they ever had a family row. He also found it weird to imagine the beautiful woman who had done so much to help him turning Nico into a plant out of anger. However, remembering her tone when she’d warned him against insulting her again, he decided it wasn’t too hard to picture.

“Oh,” said Nico, remembering. “This is Will Solace.” The blonde-haired boy grinned at him, and something in Damon’s memory stirred.

“Will…” he said, racking his brains. “The harp?”

“That’s me,” he said. “Charlie did most of the work though. I hope it helped out there?” Damon didn’t have the nerve to tell him that they hadn’t even needed it.

“Uh, yeah. Real useful.” Will laughed.

“Don’t worry, I know you lost it. I’m just glad your quest was a success.” Damon fiddled with his shirt again but smiled as he did.

“So why are all the counselors meeting?” Will’s smile flickered slightly.

“Tors and Sara told us what happened on your quest,” said Nico. “And some of it is… worrying. Chiron wants the entire Senior Counsel to hear about it.”

“Worrying how?”

“You’ll see,” said Nico, as they arrived at the Big House. Damon followed Will and Nico inside into the Rec Room, where a large group of people sat around a Ping-Pong table in the center of the room. Damon saw Mr. D, Chiron, Percy and Annabeth (who sat next to each other), Pollux, Grover, Rachel-the-Oracle, Argus, Connor, the stocky guy from the Hypnos Cabin, but there were many more he didn’t recognize. The most notable among them was a girl with uneven brown hair and eyes that sparkled in several different colors, though they looked faded. In her eyes, Damon saw a deep sadness, and he wondered if her multicolored eyes had always been so empty. What was most notable, however, was the fact that she sat next to an empty chair. Damon might have sat in it, except he got the strange impression that this chair was supposed to remain empty. He followed Nico and Will to a set of three empty seats. Nico and Will sat together, leaving Damon to sit between Nico and a girl with curly brown hair and similarly brown eyes.

“Thank you for coming,” said Chiron when he had sat down. “I believe the counsel has some important matters to discuss. Percy?” Percy nodded, and all eyes in the room turned to him. Except for Mr. D’s of course, who paid no attention to anything except the goblet of wine he was drinking.

“That’s right. We haven’t heard much from Olympus, but the last quest has told us some things that are… not super great.” A few eyes flickered towards Damon. He wished they wouldn’t, as sitting with so many important, confident people was making his anxiety flare up like salt on a wound.

“That’s an understatement,” said Annabeth next to him. Percy rolled his eyes.

“You tell it then.” The pair exchanged glances, playfully annoyed, before Annabeth turned to the room, her stormy eyes becoming serious.

“Recently, there’s been a lot of activity we can’t explain. Has anyone in this room heard of Ipotanes?” A murmur ran around the room, but no one spoke. Annabeth looked at Damon, and he swallowed, his throat feeling particularly dry.

“Aren’t they just centaurs?”

“Not like any centaurs I’ve seen,” said Pollux. “Their front legs are human. Chiron?”

“I don’t know,” said Chiron. “And perhaps that is the most troubling part. Mr. D and I are the oldest in this room, and neither of us has ever heard of an Ipotane. I recently received word from my, ah, less civilized brothers, and they know less than I do. Of course, it is possible I have forgotten…”

“Mr. D,” said a boy next to Percy. “Have you been able to contact Olympus?”

Mr. D threw back his wine, before instantly refilling his glass.

“Father won’t talk about it,” said Mr. D in a bored voice. He didn’t look up, and let out a loud belch instead before turning back to his wine.

“So you see,” said Chiron, ignoring Mr. D. “We have no source of information on these creatures, and I do not like being so unknowledgeable.”

“But shouldn’t we really be worrying about…” the girl next to the empty chair trailed off, but Chiron nodded.

“Go ahead, Piper. We need to know his name, though in general, I’d advise against using it.”

“Trisheros,” said Piper, and a few people- Damon included- shuffled uncomfortably. “He’s a god, right Damon?” He nodded, his anxiety clamping his jaw shut so that he couldn’t speak. “A god that we know nothing about. Even Annabeth has never heard of him.”

“And it looks like he’s not on our side,” said Annabeth. “Imprisoning Hecate, causing the Mist to fade. But the problem is, we don’t know who or what the ‘other side’ is, or what his plan is.”

“He’s working for someone,” said Damon, forcing himself to speak despite the nerves bubbling in his gut. “On our way back from the quest, Trish- I mean, he appeared, and he delivered something from an anonymous client. Food, all of our favorite foods. I think it was a message; he sent me some cake from a cafe down the road from my house. He was saying he knows where I live. And…” said Damon, realizing it as he spoke. “Persephone was with us, and she received a pomegranate. She didn’t say it exactly, but I’m pretty sure it was from the Underworld.”

“So it’s a statement of power,” said Annabeth. “He’s saying he can steal from Persephone’s garden without getting caught.”

“I think we can assume he’s a god,” said Chiron. “Or some other immortal, if the three-faced god- Damon, is that an accurate epithet?” Damon nodded, remembering the way Trisheros flickered between three distinct bodies. “If the three-faced god works for him.”

“Maybe a minor god?” said a gruff, muscular girl. She was the only one in the room wearing armor and looked like she’d spent a lot of time perfecting the art of the intimidating scowl. “One who’s salty we’ve forgotten about him.” Piper shook her head.

“That’s over, Clarisse. I can’t count how many shrines and temples and action figures I’ve overseen for the minor gods. The list gets longer every day. It might not be happening quickly, but none of the minor gods can complain they’ve been forgotten now. Jason made sure-” Piper seemed to choke on something. There was a difficult silence. Everyone in the room seemed to take a short glance at the empty chair beside her, and Damon started to wonder if it had always been empty.

“They could be new gods?” asked Nico, speaking for the first time. “That would explain why we don’t know about them.”

“I don’t think so,” said Damon. “The way the three-faced god talked about his client... he said he’s a messenger between the dead and the living, and like, I know gods can’t die, but the way he talked about him, he might have been.”

“Perhaps he’s faded,” said Annabeth. “Or close to it, anyway. If he’s a super old god maybe he’s been mostly forgotten, like the Romans and Helios.”

“I guess,” said Percy. “But like, Pan’s faded, and we still know who he was.”

“Pan faded recently,” said Grover, “and he worked to make sure he wasn’t forgotten. If this client, whoever he is, faded a really long time ago and didn’t have a legacy, maybe it’s possible we’ve forgotten about him.”

“Perhaps,” said Chiron, looking concerned.

“Gaia was able to bring back faded monsters,” said Percy. “She brought back Medusa’s sisters. Maybe she could bring back a god.”

“But Gaia’s gone,” said Piper. “It took a metric buttonne of work, but she’s not coming back.”

“Maybe Tartarus?” asked Annabeth shivering slightly. “He’s a protogenos like Gaia.”

“There are others, too. Nyx, Akhlys…” as Percy spoke, he and Annabeth’s hands found each other and gripped tightly. “Maybe one of them is angry about Gaia and is raising old gods to fight us as revenge.” Chiron nodded, but he looked unconvinced. His eyes and brow were troubled, and Damon got the impression that Chiron suspected something even more sinister was happening.

“Maybe he’s nice,” said Grover, though it was clear even he didn’t believe it.

“With our luck?” said Percy. “Don’t bet on it.”

“But why Zeus’ radio silence?” said Annabeth, looking pointedly at Mr. D, who shrugged.

“Why should I know?”

“He _is_ your father.”

“Mmhmm,” said Mr. D, taking another swig of wine.

“I just wish we knew this client is,” said Annabeth. “Or even the Three-Faced god. I hate being in the dark.”

“Maybe I can help,” said Rachel-the-Oracle, and all eyes in the room turned to her. “I’ll study my visions, see what I can- oh…”

Rachel straightened up, her eyes beginning to glow an eerie green. She closed her eyes, and her breaths became long and rattling.

“Oh… great…” said Annabeth.

“What is it?” asked Damon, unable to help himself.

“The next Great Prophecy,” said Rachel with a strained voice. She stood up, the entire room watching her with bated breath.

She opened her mouth, and the smoke funneled out of it, filling the room, twisting and writhing like a living thing. When she spoke, her voice no longer sounded like her own. Or rather, it sounded too much like her own. As if she was speaking over multiple recordings of her own voice.

 

“ _Five demigods and one that falls_

_Six half-bloods, eight heroes in all_

_Helped by the loved, the loathed and high four_

_Will win battles but choose to lose the war”_

 

The room was silent. Rachel fell to her knees, and Percy quickly tried to help her up.

“Well-” Chiron began, but Rachel interrupted, her voice almost her own but still underlined with the cadence of the oracle.

“It’s not over,” she said, breathing heavily. “There’s… there’s more. The client, Trisheros’ client, I think...” She opened her mouth again, and the prophecy continued.

 

“ _The old new king prepares his pawn_

_A hostage for the horned fawn_

_Heroes of eight, know before you begin_

_That Zagreus, in the end, shall win”_

 

Finally, Rachel, with Percy’s help, got to her feet.

“That’s all of it,” she said.

“Wow,” said Percy, helping her back into her seat. “That might honestly be the most pessimistic prophecy I’ve ever heard, and that’s saying something."

“But it’s still information,” said Annabeth. “At least we know who we’re facing, more or less. Chiron, have you heard of Zagreus?”

“No…” said Chiron slowly. “And I suggest we use the epithet. Invoking the name of the ‘old new king’ may be unwise, particularly until we know who or what we’re dealing-”

“Zagreus…” said a new voice, and all heads in the room turned to its source. Damon looked and was shocked to see Tors standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame and breathing heavily. His damaged right eye was glowing an eerie royal blue color. “I… I know that name…”

He fell to his knees, and Damon rushed over to help him. He was shaking but, leaning on Damon, he was able to stumble to his feet, blinking heavily. His right eye was no longer glowing and had faded back to a milky white.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” said Tors, trying to see with his barely working eye. “Where am I?”

“The Rec Room,” said Damon. “You stumbled in on a Senior Counsel meeting- what happened?”

“I don’t remember,” said Tors, frowning. Feeling Tors become more secure, Damon released him to stand on his own. “How did I get here?”

“I think you best join us, Mentor,” said Chiron gravely. “Mr. D? Another chair?” Rolling his eyes, Mr. D waved his hand and a padded wooden chair, noticeably comfier than everyone else’s, appeared behind Tors, causing him to fall into it. Unsurprisingly, it looked like Mr. D played favorites. Feeling the spotlight of so many important eyes on him, Damon returned to his chair, and the Senior Counsel all looked expectantly at Tors.

“Mentor,” Chiron prompted when Tors didn’t speak. “You said you knew this name, Zagreus?”

“What?” said Tors, suddenly afraid. He was fidgeting, his blind eyes darting all over the place. Damon had never seen him like this “Who told you that name?”

“The prophecy,” said Chiron, becoming ever more curious. “At the sound of it, you appeared in the doorway- are you saying you remember nothing of what just happened?” Tors shook his head, and Chiron looked deeply concerned. “Please, tell us what you know.”

“I, I don’t see why it’s important,” said Tors. “But it’s… it’s when I was born. In the hospital. There was this nurse. When no one was looking, he took me into an operating room. I don’t know what he did but…” Tors rolled up his shirt sleeve and revealed a long, spindly red scar running all the way around his upper arm. “When they found me, I was covered in scars like this. The hospital couldn’t see anything wrong with me, they couldn’t explain where the scars came from. And when they tried to question the nurse, he disappeared. And when they looked, they found he didn’t even work at the hospital.”

“And the imposter…?” said Annabeth, cautiously. Tors nodded.

“He was called Zagreus.”

The room seemed to shiver as a single unit. The strange subject matter of the story, combined with Tors’ blank voice, gave a distinctly eerie effect.

“Rachel,” said Chiron, composing himself. “I trust you will find out as much as you can.”

“You got it,” said Rachel.

“Nico, speak to your father. Find out what caused him to lose his power.”

“I doubt he’ll want to talk about it,” said Nico. “But I’ll do my best.”

“In the meantime, I will consider sending out demigods on missions for information.”

“I’m on that,” said Clarisse. “Whatever’s happening, I don’t like it. I want us to be ready for anything. _Especially_ a fight.”

At that moment, the horn sounded for dinner- for some reason, Damon suddenly recognized it as a conch, though he wondered if he’d ever been told that. The Senior Counsel all stood up, dissolving the meeting as they filed out of the Rec Room towards the Dining Pavilion.

“Damon, can I speak with you for a moment?” It was Chiron. Damon stayed behind, hearing the buzz of numbers slowly fade until he was left alone with Chiron.

“I want to warn you, Damon,” said Chiron seriously. He was so tall, the light above him caused a deep shadow, almost a silhouette, over his face. Seeing him like this, Damon started to realize just how old he really was.

“What is it?”

“It still stands that those cerastes could not have entered camp without inside permission. I am glad to hear that Hades no longer wishes you dead, but whoever let those cerastes in may not share his motives. There is a chance that one of the campers around you still wants you dead. Be careful.”

“I- I will,” said Damon, nervously. He had almost forgotten about the cerastes, but Chiron’s tone told him this was something to take very seriously. Chiron nodded and straightened up to his full height, and Damon left the room in a hurry, his anxiety knotting itself over this new piece of alarming information.

* * *

“Weird prophecy,” said Nico at dinner. Though Damon had learned that it was against the rules, Nico had been sitting with Will Solace at the Apollo table when Damon arrived. However, seeing Damon eat alone at the Hades, Nico had whispered something to Will before sidling over to eat with Damon. He appreciated it. Sitting alone made it difficult to avoid noticing the stares.

“Is there such thing as a normal prophecy?” asked Damon, eating his pizza with enthusiasm and trying to drink his indistinct soda. It was disgusting, but Damon had spent so much time asking for different sodas, trying to find one he liked, that his goblet had given up and, to spite him, given him what appeared to be a mix of every soda on the planet- plus something that might have been carbonated yogurt.

“I just mean,” said Nico, giving occasional glances back over to Will at the Apollo table. “It’s pretty long for a prophecy. And there was that way she stopped halfway through… though I guess it’s not really surprising after the whole Apollo fiasco.”

“What fiasco?” asked Damon, wishing he knew more about Camp Half-Blood’s past.”

“Long story.”

“Yeah, there seem to be a lot of those around here,” Damon said, wondering just how much of a history Camp Half-Blood had.

“Look,” Nico fished in his pockets for something before dropping it on the table between them. Damon stared. It was a small, makeshift tissue package that unfolded to reveal a pair of rich red pomegranate seeds. The ones he’d cried yesterday night when his powers had exploded inside of him.

“These are seeds of Persephone,” said Nico gravely. “I picked them up yesterday. Whatever happened with your powers and the suppression and stuff, these were a by-product.”

“And…?” said Damon, sensing that these were not ordinary pomegranate seeds.

“And they’re dangerous. Deadly. Except to children of Hades. Of course, I never thought a child of Persephone would exist, but I figure they won’t be deadly to you either.”

“What happens if I eat them.”

“You die.”

“Oh, right. Not deadly. But I’ll die if I eat them.”

“I mean you’ll die for a while. It’s called a death trance. They’re a last resort, and they’re not fun to use, but they kill you for a day. And you can’t kill a dead person. I survived without air when I was trapped by… anyway, one seed equals one day. Remember that.”

“Thanks,” said Damon. It wasn’t the cushiest of gifts, but Damon got the ominous sense that he might need to use them one day. He picked them up, wrapping them in the tissue, and stuffed them into his pocket.

“Hey, sorry, but is it ok if I get back to my- I mean, back to Will?”

“What? Oh, sure,” said Damon, wondering why Nico and Will’s friendship was an exception to Camp rules. He didn’t mind, though. The seeds in his pocket had given him one more thing to think about, and he sunk deep into his thoughts as he finished his meal alone.

On the way to the campfire, Damon noticed a lot of the campers giving him space. People had tended to avoid him since he’d been claimed, but now they seemed to circle around him as if he was contagious. He suspected eating alone at the Hades table might have something to do with it, though his thick red scars certainly weren’t helping things.

At the campfire, he sat alone. Sara wasn’t there, as she was still resting in the Hypnos cabin, and Tors…

Tors couldn’t see him, and Damon decided not to approach. It was weird- he kept oscillating between wanting company and wanting to be alone, and neither could satisfy whatever empty part was inside him. As much as he liked Camp Half-Blood, he wanted to see his parents again. He wanted to go home. But at the same time, Camp was starting to become his home. He wondered if he should give it a chance. He wished he could talk to someone with all the answers, but at this point, he didn’t even know what the questions were.

Maybe he was unfinished. Maybe he needed time to become himself. Damon didn’t know. But eventually, he pulled himself back to reality. There was still all of summer left, after all. By tomorrow, he’d have the list of names from Tom so that he could…

Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He’d never really wanted to hurt Tom, just to scare him. Make him feel as powerless as he had, just for a second. He wasn’t interested in revenge, but did that already count as revenge? And what would he do with the names?

Damon decided to push it from his mind for now, and he joined in with the others in singing around the campfire, which he found comforting, even if it didn’t really fix anything. When the conch sounded, he stood up like everyone else and was about to follow Nico back to Cabin 13 when he had an idea.

“I’ll see you in there,” he said to Nico.

“Alright,” said Nico curiously. “Don’t let the Harpies catch you.”

Damon nodded and slipped away from the other campers, heading towards the forest. It took him a while- trial and error-ing his way through the trees, but eventually, he found what he was looking for: a thick nest of brambles and vines and flowers. The bombsite he’d created when he stumbled here during an episode.

“Hey-”

“STYX!” yelled Damon, jumping around. Without a sound, Ash had materialized behind him and whispered almost directly into his ear. “Holy- a little warning next time?”

Ash just giggled slightly, her hair rippling in the moonlight. She stared at him with her eyes- almost glowing green in the darkness- as if expecting him to say something.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“Do you?” asked Ash slyly. “I heard you’ve been claimed. I guess it’s not so much a mystery anymore why Nymphs take such a liking to you?”

“I guess not.”

“So why are you here?” The way Ash asked it, it might have been a riddle. Damon realized he wasn’t entirely sure, but an important question escaped his lips without him thinking.

“Ok, so, your name. Are all Ash tree Nymphs named Ash? Doesn’t that get confusing? Or are you the only one?” Ash blinked at him, apparently surprised by the question.

“Uh…”

“Cause I heard Grover’s girlfriend is called Juniper, and she’s a Juniper tree, so like, what is up with that?”

There was a long pause. Ash blinked at him again.

“No,” he said finally. “I guess I don’t know why I’m here.” He looked out over the carnage he’d caused, but in the time since he’d created it, the forest had reclaimed it. It was no longer his destruction. Moss and mushrooms grew on many of the thickest vines, and a blanket of summer flowers coated the entire forest floor.

Something stirred in the darkness, and Damon had to stop himself from reaching for his sword. After a moment, he realized the dark shape was only an ordinary bat, swooping in and out of the trees as if it were running an obstacle course. As he watched, the creature turned a tree and flew towards his head. Instinctively, Damon ducked, but the creature simply landed gently on his shoulder and began rubbing its pointy face against his cheek.

“They’re Persephone’s sacred animal,” said Ash, seeing his surprise. “One of them, anyway.”

“Deer,” said Damon, suddenly understanding why the deer back in the forest where they’d found Hecate had been so friendly. Ash nodded.

“Them too.”

“But I thought deer were symbols of Artemis?”

“More or less. Symbols can be a complicated business.” The bat on Damon’s shoulder squeaked excitedly, and to his surprise, he found he could understand it as “ _Dinner!_ ”

The bat swooped down from Damon’s shoulder, dive bombing an unsuspecting cricket before carrying it away, disappearing into the night.

“You’ve got a lot to learn,” said Ash. “A demigod child of Persephone… it’s never happened before. You’ll need to find out what powers you possess. With what’s in your future…”

“What, are you an oracle now?”

“Don’t need to be,” said Ash shrugging. “The Fates won’t be happy with Persephone’s actions. There will be consequences.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard. Thanks.” Damon tried not to sound as bitter as he felt. He wasn’t sure who he was angry at. His mother had only been trying to help. Whatever these ‘ancient laws’ were, they didn’t seem fair. “Besides, I know my power.” Damon focused on the ground, causing a green stem to poke out of the ground. Damon watched it grow in superfast motion, letting it reach the height of his knee before allowing the flower to blossom. A lily.

“You can do much more than that,” said Ash. She was no longer smiling, and in the shadows, her face looked almost spooky. “I saw it too, yesterday night. Those weren’t just plants. You dragged him down, directly to the Underworld. I’ve heard Nico can do the same- you should talk to him.”

“A lot of people seem to be saying that.” It wasn’t that Damon didn’t want to talk to Nico, but he might want to get to know him first before spilling out his darkest secrets. “And I’d rather not talk about what I did to that man.”

“Persephone’s a complicated goddess,” said Ash, barely listening to what he was saying. “She is summer and winter, spring and fall, flowers and bones, life and death… life is a powerful thing. Demeter’s kids may be peaceful, but they can fight hard when they want to. They’re usually the best swordsmen, too.”

“Yeah,” said Damon, smiling slightly as he remembered all the ways Sara had saved his neck on the quest.

“Death is powerful too. I bet even Percy would have a hard time taking Nico on in a fight. But life _and_ death? Both in the same person? That might be another matter altogether.” Damon couldn’t quite tell if this was supposed to encourage him or scare him.

“What are you saying?”

“I dunno,” said Ash, allowing herself to smile again. “Maybe I’m just glad you know who you are.”

Damon almost laughed, knowing full well he had barely begun to understand who he was. “Maybe don’t celebrate just yet. I feel like I’ve got a long way to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last one! (For this book, at least. I have the whole series planned out.)


	20. Questions

Nico was waiting for him in the Cabin.

“What’s up?” he asked. He was sitting on his coffin-shaped bed, apparently waiting for Damon to arrive.

“Just… talking to a friend.”

“The Nymph?”

“Yeah, how did you…”

“Lucky guess. I saw you going in the direction of the forest.” Damon sat down on his own bed, staring at the floor. He’d been right; the darkness of the Cabin was much nicer at night. Damon felt separated from the rest of the world as if nothing else had to matter when you slept in the Death God’s Cabin.

“She told me to talk to you. So did Percy.”

“About what?” The green firelight flickered across Nico’s face. He was so pale, he almost seemed to glow against the obsidian walls of the cabin.

“About…” Damon hesitated. As much as he trusted Percy, he still couldn’t be sure of Nico’s reaction to what Tom and the others had done. And if they were sharing a Cabin, Damon wanted to be sure how he’d react before he told him. Instead, he decided on the other questions that were bugging him.

“Do you know anything about this?” Damon pulled out his dagger. He willed it to become a sword, and it obeyed, the blue fabric wrapping itself around his forearm like a bandage, the blade elongating and become a chilling black metal.

“Stygian Iron,” said Nico, looking at it closely. “Same as mine. It looks pretty new, too.”

“What’s Stygian Iron?”

“One of the three metals that can harm monsters. And the most dangerous. It’s made in the Underworld. You’ll want to be careful with it.”

“Right,” said Damon, letting the fabric recede to the handle and the blade shorten into a dagger again. He wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have fought Tom with it if it was such a dangerous metal. He rested the dagger against his bed before looking back at Nico.

“You know, I’ve never seen a god treat their kid the way she treated you.”

“What do you mean?” Damon felt himself blush a little, embarrassed that his mother would give him special treatment.

“Most godly parents send vague messages at best, every now and again. At worst, you never hear from them at all. But posing as a demigod, joining you on a quest…”

“What does it mean?”

“I guess that she loves you,” said Nico. “Or that she hates you.”

“Wow. Cheery. Thanks.” A smile flickered across Nico’s face.

“You’re rooming with a child of the Underworld. Don’t expect a lot of cheer.”

“Yeah,” said Damon. “This Cabin is kinda depressing, don’t you think? I mean, the coffin beds-”

“Exactly!” said Nico, surprising Damon. “I didn’t design them. But apparently whoever did thought I was a vampire, not a demigod.”

“It’s not all bad though,” said Damon, looking at the delicate glinting jewels in the shrine, or the beetle black obsidian walls. “Besides, we _could_ redecorate.”

“Your call,” said Nico. “But no flowers.”

“No,” said Damon distantly. “But maybe…” his brain was foggy. He felt like he was sleepwalking. Or maybe half-asleepwalking. Something about the shrine of bones and jewels intrigued him, as though an invisible force was guiding him to it. Reaching it, he felt himself reach out an arm and touch the edge gently.

At once, plant stems worked their way through the outermost bones like a spider web.

“I just said no flowers,” said Nico, but he fell silent when he saw them bloom.

They were unlike any flowers Damon had ever seen before. No, that wasn’t true. He’d seen flowers like them once before. It had been in the Underworld, in Persephone’s garden, where he’d seen flowers just like these.

Instead of blossoms, they had thick gemstones growing like petals- half plant, half mineral. A couple of the stems sprouted large, rich rubies that glinted like a subversion of a rose. Small diamond daisies fringed the outermost edges of the shrine, and a few sapphire bluebells grew delicately around the nearest femurs. They didn’t cover the shrine, they simply framed it, growing around the edges and adding a complicated sparkle to the room.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” said Nico as Damon sat back down.

“Neither did I.”

“What else can you do?”

“No idea,” said Damon, remembering what Ash had said. “But I think I should find out. There aren’t any other children of Persephone to learn from, but maybe you could…”

“I don’t know if our powers are similar enough for me to teach you,” said Nico. Then he seemed to have an idea. “Here.” He looked at the shrine, and Damon followed his gaze, seeing some of the smaller bones wiggle and break free of the whole. In the air, they assembled into the form of a rodent, and two small red gems glinted in its eye sockets. The rat landed on the floor and scampered towards Damon.

He could feel them, even without looking. He thought he knew what Nico was trying to do, and focused on what he could sense. Nico was controlling the bones, but he gently eased away, like a parent teaching their child how to ride a bike, until, before he knew it, Damon was making the skeletal rat run in circles on the floor.

It didn’t take long, however, before it collapsed into a pile of bones. Damon’s focus was vague and hazy, and he’d only been able to hold the bones in shape for a few seconds. Nico didn’t look surprised.

“It’s summer,” he said, levitating the bones and returning them to the shrine. “But I’d bet a good number of drachmas you’ll get better during the winter.”

“When Persephone goes to the Underworld,” said Damon, remembering the myth. “That makes sense.”

“For now,” said Nico, lying in his bed, “I guess just practice. Start small, do what you can. Maybe, after a while, you can try shadow travel.”

“Shadow travel?” asked Damon, curious. “What’s that?”

“Difficult,” said Nico. “And exhausting.” Damon smiled, though Nico couldn’t see it.

“Night,” he said, slipping beneath his own covers.

“Night.” Without either saying a word, the green torches were extinguished, submerging them into complete darkness. Whatever Damon had thought total darkness was before, he was wrong. _This_ was total darkness. Even when his hand was an inch from his face, he couldn’t begin to see it. It felt relaxing, like escaping from the world to lie in a dark cupboard, with no sound or tether to the outside.

Almost as soon as Damon’s head hit the pillow, his eyes closed like mousetraps and he fell deeply, totally asleep.

 

At Camp Half-Blood, Damon had heard a lot about dreams. It seemed a general truth that, unlike with Mortals, a demigod’s dreams, more often than not, actually meant something. Before, Damon had dismissed this, as he was apparently an exception. He could rarely remember his dreams, and even when he could, they never made any semblance of sense- as dreams should be.

Now, however, Damon was a true demigod. His powers had awoken, and suddenly his dreams were frighteningly vivid and as hard to forget as they previously had been to remember.

He dreamt he stood on the beach at Camp Half-Blood, looking out at the waves. It was a peaceful night, and Damon saw countless stars stretch out over the horizon. He started trying to name the constellations but was interrupted by dark shape overhead.

At first glance, it looked like a massive bat, but when Damon looked closer he saw that it was actually a pegasus, its black fur making it resemble a flying shadow. It flew out over the sea, and Damon ran after it without thinking. However, it didn’t seem to matter. Damon ran on top of the water as easily as if it were asphalt, and he wasn’t even out of breath when he caught up to the pegasus who was hovering over the waves.

Now that he was closer, Damon saw who was riding it: Nico. Damon tried to call out to him, but as he did, Nico fell sideways, plunging headfirst into the water. It was too fast for Damon to react, and Nico’s impact with the water caused huge ripples that destabilized Damon’s footing, causing him to trip and fall into the sea.

Below the surface, Damon sank slowly to the seafloor. Nico, on the other hand, fell as if he had lead shackles tied to his ankles. Eventually, Damon caught up, worrying that Nico might drown, but as he drew closer he saw that Nico had changed into Percy, who seemed to be having no troubles underwater. He waved cheerfully at Damon before swimming towards the dark shape of an overturned boat, around which three dolphins were swimming. Damon swam after Percy, and upon approach was shocked to see that the dolphins were actually only half dolphin. The back half, to be exact. Each had a gentle fishtail and the front half of a horse. Damon wondered how they could swim so effortlessly, and was even more shocked when one of them swam up to Percy and spoke in a series of chitters.

 _We don’t know what it is, lord_ , it said, the other two fish-horses swimming in nervous circles behind it. _Many strange things are stirring_.

“ _Many strange things are stirring_ ,” thought Damon. He didn’t like the sound of that. But he couldn’t dwell on that thought, as then the horse-fish (horse-fishes?) nodded towards the overturned boat, their manes flowing elegantly in the water. Percy and Damon swam over, and in the darkness, Damon was finally able to make out signs of movement- something struggling, trapped beneath the boat.

“Are you gonna help me or what?” asked Percy, grabbing one side of the boat, ready to lift. Damon swam to the other side, and together they managed to haul the boat onto its side, before pushing it away. As it rolled, it disintegrated into the darkness, and Damon looked down at the animal they’d freed.

Only it wasn’t an animal. It was a weapon- a long, shimmering scythe. The sight of it made Damon shiver, and the silvery blade rippled in what little moonlight filtered through the water. He looked to Percy for answers, but Percy had disappeared. When he looked down, so had the scythe. And so had the water.

Now, Damon stood on solid Earth, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when a raindrop the size of a soccer ball hit the ground next to him. For some reason, the raindrop was made of a thick golden liquid. Damon recognized it as ichor, the blood of the gods, and looked up to see where it had come from.

The sky was raining. As in, _literally_. Pieces of the sky were breaking off and falling to the ground as drops of ichor. Stars themselves were fracturing and tumbling to Earth. No… not fracturing, not breaking off…

They were being cut. Every few seconds, something would dart across the sky, severing off a piece and letting it fall as rain. Damon saw a star cut away from the black night sky, falling closer and closer, a glittering golden comet until it hit Damon square in the face, and he woke up in a cold sweat, panting heavily.

 

It was strange. Why was his heart beating so fast? Why did he feel an overwhelming sense of danger? The dream hadn’t been _that_ scary. Ok, maybe the scythe was a little unnerving, but other than that…

“Bad dream?” asked Nico with a smile that might’ve looked ghoulish against the obsidian walls if it hadn’t been friendly.

“I dunno if it was a _bad_ , exactly. Weird, maybe…”

“You’ll get used to it. Breakfast?”

“Yeah,” said Damon, getting dressed and following Nico out of the Cabin, wondering what that dream could possibly have meant.

* * *

The rest of the summer was, relatively speaking, normal. Damon threw himself into his activities and spent most of his free time exploring the forest. There, he would practice making plants sprout from the Earth, starting small until he was able to make sunflowers taller than he was, though this definitely tired him out. Flowers were easiest, but he could also manage unripe fruit without too much effort. In comparison to those that exploded out of him during his episodes, the flowers he grew now looked fuller, healthier, and slowly the background fear of his powers began to lessen. The atmosphere of the forest calmed him, and he especially liked it at night. Often he would sneak out of the cabin and talk to the bats there. They weren’t great at conversation (a two-word sentence was the most complicated thing they could manage) but they listened well. At least, until they spotted an insect and snatched it up to eat. Damon even learned their names, and what their favorite bugs were, and that bats aren’t actually blind. By the end of summer, he was going to the forest almost nightly.

With Nico, progress was slower. They kept trying to control bones, and Nico tried to help him control small amounts of Earth, but Damon’s focus was fuzzy and, though he once managed to move a chunk of Earth the size of his bed, the effort exhausted him. Still, combined with his slowly improving sword and archery skills, as well as his knowledge of the forest from so much time spent exploring it, Damon became a definite threat during capture the flag. Most Fridays, he was on Percy and Annabeth’s team, as they were two of the few people at Camp that didn’t avoid him or shoot him strange looks when they thought he wasn’t looking. They won most games, though most of that was due to Annabeth’s planning and Percy’s tough defense at the creek boundary line. But Damon helped where he could, and often convinced the Nymphs to confuse and slow down enemy attackers.

Where he excelled was scouting. It didn’t take long for Damon’s nightly trips into the forest to give him a detailed map of the entire area. For some reason, the forest seemed to stick in his head like it belonged there, making it easy for Damon to take subtler routes into enemy territory. Once, Damon even managed to convince Selma and Corey (the two bats Damon saw most often) along with their friends to pick up the flag and carry it over to Nico, who ran with it all the way back to friendly territory.

But despite how much Damon enjoyed Camp Half-Blood, he knew he wasn’t a year-rounder. It took less than a second of indecision before he chose to go back home for the school year, to see his parents again. He had a _lot_ to talk about. He wanted to be angry at his father for never telling him about Camp, about the gods, but it was hard to stay mad at him at the best of times, let alone when he’d just been released from the clutches of Damon’s Lord-of-the-Dead stepfather.

The last night of Camp, Damon slipped into the forest one last time. He wound his way up the creek, listening to the gentle nighttime forest sounds- birds, frogs, and… other, probably less friendly creatures.

_“Sad?”_

It was Selma the bat, who perched on her preferred spot- the top of Damon’s head, tangling his hair.

“Not sad, exactly,” said Damon.

“ _Happy?_ ”

“Not happy either.” Damon smiled. Bats weren’t stunningly intelligent, but they were hopelessly endearing. “Both. Happy and sad.”

“ _Happy… and sad?”_ Asked Selma, confused. Damon didn’t expect her to understand how he felt. It was so complicated. When he’d first arrived at Camp Half-Blood, it had been a sanctuary. Then he’d met Tom, and it had been a torture chamber. Now, it was… unfinished. It could become a second home to him, he knew that much, but it wasn’t there yet. He was still the outsider, the crybaby, with thick red scars and the ability to drag his enemies to the Underworld after blinding them with rose blooms.

“You’re not the only one,” said a voice. Damon had gotten less jumpy recently, but he still flinched. Selma flew away at the sound, disappearing into the shadows between the trees. The speaker was Nico, who’d apparently followed him into the forest. Damon wasn’t surprised- after all his nighttime excursions, he could hardly blame Nico for being curious.

“Kids of the Underworld,” he continued. “We stick out.”

“You seem to fit in, more or less.”

“It only took saving the world a few times,” said Nico, half amused, half bitter. “But I got there. Eventually, I just had to give them a chance.”

“A chance…” said Damon. “I wonder if Tom and the others deserve that.”

“Not everyone is gonna like you,” said Nico. He seemed unsure- apparently, open conversation was not his strong point, but Damon appreciated the effort. “But the people who matter will. I can’t complain with a boyfriend like Will.”

“...boyfriend?” asked Damon, his mouth suddenly dry. It took less than a second for Nico to become dangerous. Damon finally knew what Percy meant about Nico making himself scary when he needed to. The grass and flowers around his shoes began to wilt, and Damon couldn’t help but take a step back. If he looked like that when he…

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, I- I…” Of course. This is what Percy had meant. If anyone would understand…

“What?” said Nico, staring at him intensely.

“I didn’t mean- I-” Damon steeled himself, standing his ground. Tears of blood began to leak from his eyes. “What I mean is, I’m-”

That was new. Damon had known times when words got stuck in his throat, but this was different. It wasn’t mental, it was physical. His throat literally closed up against his will. He tried again.

“I’m-” but it didn’t work. More tears gathered at his eyes, a gross, rotting, putrefying fear began to fill him up like an anti-ambrosia. A few tears fell, tracing his permanent red tear tracts as they fell to the Earth.

I’m g-” _Why did it have to start with a ‘g’?_ Of all the letters, why did it have to be ‘g’? A closed letter, at the back of the throat, right where the lump was when you cried. Where the pain was. Where everything was glottal and difficult and wrong.

Damon cried, not out of reflex or confusion, but out of a raw pain. His hands became claws involuntarily, and the ground at his feet began to churn. Flowers would sprout, then wither and die like they did around Nico’s shoes, making the forest floor look like a restless ocean. The fear, the shame, it all became physical, signals on his nerves sending pain careening around his body. His hands started to shake, and his ribcage no longer seemed to adequately protect his beating heart, an ugly muscle that might tear itself loose at any moment.

“I’m-” he could only force it out in a whisper, and even then the words seemed to flay his skin, removing him of any protection, any walls or barriers or places to hide.

“I’m gay.”

Suddenly, the waves of death around Nico vanished. He looked even paler than usual, and, though Damon would never have thought it possible, he saw some of the same pain in Nico’s face. Then, Damon’s knees betrayed him and he fell onto a nearby boulder, his whole body shaking. Silent tears streamed down his face, and mucus throttled him from the inside. _Bad- wrong- no- no-_ his mind was fractured, torched and melting in his skull. He wanted to scream, but his voice wouldn’t work. He wanted to sob, but he refused to allow himself the release. Around him, shadows seemed to twist and contort. The ground split and Damon tried to scream, terrified of what he might do to Nico, but Nico simply pointed at the chasm and it sucked itself shut, leaving only a spindly scar in the dirt. It reminded Damon that Nico knew more than him. He was powerful, a child of the eldest gods, and however much Damon scared himself, he doubted he could do much to hurt Nico even if he wanted to.

In silence, Nico sat next to Damon on the boulder.

“Sorry. I thought…” Nico said finally. Damon forced his tears away, ordered his body to stop shaking, which it did- except for his hands, which still trembled so badly he was unable to fiddle with the hem of his shirt- the material kept slipping out from between his clumsy fingers.

“But Camp’s a nice place.” Suddenly, Nico’s aversion to talking emotions seemed to be less apparent. Perhaps because this was something he knew everything about. “Difficult, but nice.”

“Is it?” asked Damon. He doubted Nico himself believed that it was nice. It wasn’t nice, or safe, or anything of the sort. But it was the best there was when monsters were out for your blood. It was training and hard work, but, if he was honest with himself, Damon was terrified that it was a place for other people. Strong people. Not people like him, who cried at every opportunity, and who were more scared of public speaking than the Minotaur. “Tell that to Tom. Athena’s cabin.”

“Why him?”

“You probably wouldn’t know. He’s too scared to mess with you, but me…”

“What did he do?” asked Nico, his voice suddenly tinged with danger. Though it was painful, Damon recounted being beaten up. Nico might have told him it was just a ritual for new campers, but ‘crybaby queer’ made the air around him become very, very cold. A mugging from the Hermes cabin- that would be unpleasant, but Damon could believe it was an unruly welcome. But he remembered just how much of his skin had turned purple afterward, how much he’d bled...

“Who were the others. Other than Tom.” Damon hesitated. He had the names- he’d found them on his pillow the day after he fought Tom- but he had no idea what to do with them. He wanted to fight each and every one, make them feel as scared and helpless as he had been, but he didn’t have much fight left in him. He could just forgive them. Maybe that would be easier. But despite what hippies and stories might tell you, forgiveness doesn’t always heal you. Then again, they were demigods too. Half of them probably had twice as much shit to deal with than Damon, but knowing that didn’t make him feel much better. If he told Nico, he knew he’d do something, but he couldn’t be exactly sure what.

“I understand the temptation,” said a different voice, “but Nico, I don’t think killing them would really help.” It was Percy. Damon was grateful for him lifting the decision from his hands, but the sight of a second person to follow him into the forest did make him feel a little terse. Why did everyone insist on sneaking up behind him?

“Are we having a convention?” he asked.

“You don’t understand the temptation,” said Nico.

“I… no, maybe I don’t.” Percy sat down on Damon’s other side. The boulder was starting to get really crowded. “But you know how you are with grudges.”

“They’d deserve it,” said Nico darkly.

“Probably,” said Percy. “Look, I’m not saying I have answers or advice or anything.”

“...but?” Damon prompted.

“Oh, no,” said Percy. “That was it. I’m as lost as you are, I’m just more experienced at it. I’m good at lost.”

“Whatever,” said Nico. “Just deal with them, Damon, alright?”

“How?”

“Your choice,” said Nico. “Give yourself a year, come back next summer with a revenge plot.” Damon thought Percy was going to argue, but surprisingly he agreed.

“Yeah. Talk to Connor. if you want to mess someone up real good, the Hermes kids are the way to go. God of trickery, all that stuff. Also Nemesis. Experts on revenge. Make yourself heard. You’ll fit in,” said Percy. “...eventually.”

“Why are you nice to me? You could forget about me, easy. I’m anxious, a coward, I’m everything you aren’t. You’ve saved the world, like, ten times already. All I did was suck up to my stepdad so I didn’t get zapped to Tartarus.”

“You deserve a chance,” said Percy. “I was your age once.”

“And you’d already done more than I ever will. You were already brave.”

“So? You can become brave. Even if it takes help, you can get there.”

“Since when were you so good at pep talks?” asked Nico. “New Rome’s changed you.”

“Haven’t had held the sky up for a while,” said Percy. “Literally or figuratively. Maybe I’ve mellowed out- wanna try me?” he was grinning mischievously again, and he twirled a pen- his sword in disguise- between his fingers.

“I could take you easy. Combat Arena, tomorrow morning?”

“You’re on.” Percy returned his pen to his pocket, staring at the creek that was coursing at their feet. “Besides, you _did_ face Hades. And _Keres-_ on top of a moving train. I’ve met those hags before. They’re not exactly friendly. Maybe you didn’t save the world, but you can afford to give yourself a little credit. You can do more than you think.”

 _YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE CORRECT, PERSEUS_.

Percy and Nico were faster than Damon could have believed. In less than a second, Percy was standing, one foot in the creek, with his sword at full length in front of him. Nico was just as quick. He seemed to produce his Stygian Iron sword from nowhere and looked around in the darkness for the source of the voice. Damon was slower, but his reflexes were good enough. He pulled his dagger, letting it grow into a rose-etched sword, and peered into the shadows.

The voice itself was regal and powerful, echoing like a royal fanfare but with more danger and acidity. It sent chills over Damon’s skin, not unlike the blood-fingers he felt when Tors released his madness on others.

“Who are you?” asked Percy, his voice quieter but equal in intensity.

_NOTHING, FOR NOW. I AM THE WASTE IN THE STYX. I AM THE ASPHODEL AND THE POPLARS. BUT I WILL GROW. YOU WILL SERVE ME WELL SOON ENOUGH. OR PERHAPS YOU HAVEN’T GUESSED._

“If you tell us,” said Nico, his voice even colder than Percy’s, “then we won’t have to guess.”

_SON OF HADES, IT IS AN HONOR. I’M GLAD I COULD MEET YOU BEFORE YOU FELL TO ME. I AM ALMOST PLEASED YOUR LITTLE QUEST HAS POSTPONED MY PLAN._

“A lot of people expect me to fall to them,” said Nico. “It gets old.”

_BUT YOU KNOW MORE THAN MOST THAT SOME THINGS CANNOT BE AVOIDED. HOW MUCH OF MY PROPHECY HAVE YOU DEDUCED, HEROES?_

“ _Your_ prophecy?” said Percy. “That’s a little arrogant, don’t you think? You must be a god.” Damon couldn’t help but admire Percy’s nerve. The voice seemed little more than amused.

_SO MUCH POWER IN ONE PLACE. THREE GREAT SONS OF THE EARTH, AND STILL YOU WON’T BE ENOUGH TO DEFEAT ME. TELL ME, HOW MANY OF THE OTHER FIVE ARE NEAR ENOUGH TO HELP YOU?_

“Other five?” asked Percy, his voice becoming dangerous. “Ohhh no. You are not roping me into another great prophecy.”

“What does he mean?” asked Damon.

“The other five. Three plus five is eight… he’s talking about the eight heroes of the new Great Prophecy.”

“He thinks we’re three of the eight heroes,” said Nico.

“Why wait for the other five?” said Percy. “Come fight us now, we can get this over with.”

_OH… IF I COULD, PERSEUS. BUT EVERY DAY I GROW IN STRENGTH. YOU WILL NOT BE SAFE FOR MUCH LONGER._

“My dude,” Percy seemed, more than anything, completely done with this echoing voice. “My guy, I have never once in my life been safe. There are a lot of people who want me dead. You’ll need to get in line.”

_SO BRAVE. WE’LL SEE HOW LONG THAT LASTS, HEROES. BUT SOME ADVICE, ONE ENEMY TO ANOTHER. OUT OF THE THREE OF YOU, NONE KNOWS HIS TRUE STRENGTH. FIND IT, IF YOU EVER HOPE TO DEFEAT ME._

There was a sharp breeze, and the voice faded as if it was speeding away from them. Percy and Nico looked at each other.

“What the hell was that?” asked Damon, trying not to seem too frightened. The voice had been distant but powerful, like a hurricane on the horizon. A hurricane that was heading their way.

“No idea.” said Percy.

"Zagreus?" suggested Nico.

“Maybe, whoever that is.” Damon shivered a little, though he wasn’t completely sure why. “Don’t worry about it,” said Percy. “For now, anyway. Try and have a normal school year, see how long you last now that you’re a full-on demigod.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see. You two get to bed- I’ll tell Chiron about what happened.” Percy trekked away through the trees, his thudding footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Nico and Damon to look at each other.

“If I’m part of the great prophecy,” began Damon, not sure if he wanted the answer. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Nothing good,” said Nico gravely. “But Percy’s right. Don’t worry about it.”

“Mm. Encouraging. Thanks.”

* * *

Damon only wished he could say goodbye to Sara. But, unfortunately, she was still in the Hypnos Cabin, recovering from their quest. Damon left her a note, but it just wasn’t the same as seeing her again. He did get to say goodbye to Tors, but it was painful. Every time he saw those damaged eyes he felt a toxic guilt. He’d asked Tors to distract Trisheros. At the root of it, he was responsible, and Tors’ milky eyes were only a reminder.

Pollux’s goodbye was probably the friendliest. He didn’t treat Damon any different from how he had before, and he was grateful for it. Connor’s goodbye was equally friendly, except it involved emptying Damon’s pockets in under a minute.

Eventually, he got all his possessions back from Connor (and the other Hermes kids- Percy wasn’t wrong about the god of thieves thing) and was standing on Farm Road, seeing a familiar deep, wine red car drive towards him.

“Dad!”

It was an intense hug. Damon felt him almost topple over from the impact.

“Busy summer?”

“Nothing much. You?”

“Eh, kidnapped by my ex’s husband and taken to the realm of the dead. The usual.”

“I missed you.” Damon allowed himself to laugh. The muscles it required felt tired and stiff.

“Get in, I need to get you back in time for your surprise party.”

“Uh, if it’s a surprise party, should you be telling me about it.”

“Nope,” said his dad without missing a beat. He grinned at Damon before cruising down Farm Road, the late August sun making his blue hair sparkle.

“Dad, is there… glitter in your hair?”

“Maybe.”

“Why are we even having a surprise party anyway?” His dad shrugged.

“Does there have to be a reason?”

“Normally, yeah.”

“Ok, how about: ‘You saved my life so let’s have cake.'”

“Chocolate cake? At the cafe.”

“Obviously.” So much had happened, it had been easy for Damon to forget how lucky he was. Sure, maybe his parents on the godly side were… complicated. But on the mortal side, they were about as good as you got.

“How’s mom? Last I heard she was taken to a demigod safehouse for mortals.”

“Uh, about that…” his dad’s smile faltered. All of a sudden, looked the kind of sad Apollo would write songs about, and the mood whiplash made Damon's head spin. “It’s... not really a safehouse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it is a safehouse, but it’s also got a couple of Hecate campers there in case of emergencies.”

“What kind of emergencies?” Damon’s stomach was dropping fast.

“Damon,” his dad chose his words carefully. “You know the Mist can change people’s memories, right?”

“You mean like with me and Pollux?”

“Yeah. Well, mortals aren’t really supposed to know about, you know,” he bit his lip slightly. “Camp Half-Blood, Monsters, gods, any of it. Pollux told your mom cause, well, it was kind of an emergency.”

“What are you saying?” Damon wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

“I’m saying she… she doesn’t remember what happened.”

“What?! But-”

“I know,” said his dad before Damon could protest. From his tone, Damon could see that he really did understand how Damon felt. “But it’s better this way. She’ll be safer.”

He was probably right, but it still stung. His father let him sit in silence. That was something Damon always appreciated- his father never made him talk if it hurt too much.

As they sped towards home, Damon prepared himself to re-enter the world of the ordinary. His mind raced faster than the car, trying to build a castle of sense out of dry sand. It surprised him to realize that he would, after all, miss Camp Half-Blood. Not just the people, but also the pegasi, the sword training, the harpies that he’d gotten so skilled at evading… But all the same, a normal school year let him see his parents which, after worrying for so long about losing them, was a metaphorical dose of ambrosia.

 

 _A normal school year_ thought Damon, remembering Percy’s words. _How hard could that be?_

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voilà! The end. But I've already started on the sequel so chapter one should be up pretty soon. :)


End file.
